Tiger Tiger
by Michael Spenik
Summary: Richard Michaels is a Merc in Houston, making a living and getting on with life in a world split between magic and tech, until fate changes his life forever. Infected with Lyc-V, now he must integrate with the local shapeshifter group, and find his place in a world with much wider horizons.


It is a dark night in Houston, the smell of the docks so thick even a non-shapeshifter has a hard time not vomiting from the smell. Richard, a contractor on hire from the Mercenary Guild, Houston Chapter, wrinkles his nose but does not move otherwise from his perch on a four story building three blocks from the edge of the water. The magic is down, and he has a .338 Winchester Magnum snuggled into his shoulder as he scans the circuit of the dock, looking for his target.

He was hired yesterday and deputized to assist the Texas Rangers in taking down a black marketeer. Normally the Rangers handled their own hard take downs, but this time the target was dealing in shapeshifter body parts on the black market. The dealer moved from port to port, on a large transport hauler, taking legitimate jobs as cover, and kept the shapeshifters alive until needed. The boss, a former Chinese Triad Mob Boss, always kept a live shapeshifter available to infect new ones, so he always had the supply for his demand.

Through an odd series of lucky events, the Rangers had managed to ferret out the location of the ship on short notice, and want the take down on their own rep, rather than share with the feds. To get around their lack of experienced manpower, they had hired local through the guild and deputizing Richard and four others, two of which were shapeshifters. It is not the first time, and would not be the last, and Richard is on the top ten list of the local Guild for normal humans. Richard is a former Army Ranger that faded out of sight after a particularly harsh magic wave hit, and the country broke apart during it, some states now making their way on their own. Since then he had chosen Texas as a place to hang his hat until things sorted out.

Things had sorted out, but Richard had found he enjoyed Merc work better than Army life. Most deserters and AWOLs had been granted amnesty, and he has been working in Houston ever since, killing shapeshifters gone Loup, as well as the random magic creature that appeared with the magic waves. On occasion, like today, the Rangers needed backup, and Richard was on the short list of people they trusted to hold their end and to keep the business to themselves.

Richard pauses as he goes through his circuit, searching from one point of interest to another, movement catching his eye. He keys his radio, which works with the tech up.

"Guard on west end gate receiving radio chatter, over," he sends into his sub vocal radio mike on his throat.

"Copy," the voice of the lead Ranger replies. "When message complete, neutralize, then overwatch. We are going in once he is down."

"Copy," Richard replies absently, slowing his already relaxed breathing and looking at the target five hundred meters away.

The shot is a difficult one, it needing to be a critical head shot to the brain stem or equivalent, as the guard is a shapeshifter, and will recover from any other type of wound, if not immediately, then quickly enough and loudly enough to blow the covert entrance needed. He gently squeezes the trigger and the kick of the gun is a surprise as it always is. The guard's head explodes, and the body drops.

"Target down," Richard reports sub vocally, the rifle silenced and giving no report, and the entry team out of sight of the guard.

"Copy," the lead Ranger says, and Richard watches as the six Texas Rangers with four Mercs enter the converted bulk cargo hauler, uniformed police and SWAT following them to cover the entrances.

Richard continues to scan his entrances as the SWAT snipers set up, closer to the target. He absently hears and logs away the information coming over the radio of contact, noting where he will have to go once the other snipers are in place and he can follow the Rangers as their back up.

He rises to his knees when the snipers are set, and rolls his shoulder, the long overwatch having cramped his shoulders. Richard stands at five and a half feet tall, but is stocky and solid, looking like a biker and weightlifter, with a perpetual scowl on his face, though a sardonic or sarcastic smirk often tugs at the corners of his mouth. He has short, dirty blond hair in a high and tight, and rough features on his medium tanned skin.

Richard descends the fire escape quickly, the silenced rifle left on the rooftop, and he unslings his .45 UMP SMG as he reaches the ground. He jogs towards the front entrance, covered by uniformed police, and nearly stumbles as a cry comes over the radio.

"SHIT!" the Ranger cries, and Richard breaks into a run at the sound, the radio message sounding to have come from the lead Ranger.

Richard rushes past the police and up the narrow walkway up to the ship. He turns the corners quickly as grunts, yells and silenced gunshots echo over the radio. The local police were instructed to wait twenty minutes then tell the feds if the Rangers did not answer radio calls, he was five minutes into that now as he hurries down the metal grated steps into the cargo hold, passing bodies of guards to the main hold.

He rushes through a hatch onto a catwalk, suspended over the hold and cages beneath. He sees the lead Ranger lying on the catwalk, his handgun out and aiming at small flitting shapes moving back and forth. Richard fires at the moving objects, and they drop as he hits them.

"They are shrouds," Richard announces to the Ranger as he steps over the two dead Rangers between him and the man, Davis. "You need enchanted rounds, silver isn't enough."

Davis stops firing and holds his other arm, pain wincing his face. Richard searches the dimness beyond the catwalk as he reloads, having finished off the shrouds and used up most of the ammo in that magazine. As he switches mags, a figure materializes in mid-air a dozen meters from the catwalk. He fires the single round in the chamber on reflex, but the bullet flashes out of existence, the magic flaring at that instant.

Richard drops his SMG, useless now that the tech is down and the magic is in full power. He reaches for his katana from his back, always nearby in case of a shift just like this. Before he can pull it from its scabbard, he is hit by a wave of force and thrown from the catwalk. He twists in mid-air, trying to right himself and lands in a painful heap on the top of the large cage below.

He bounces on the cage top, then the top breaks and he falls to the dusty and solid ground, bruised and gasping. Richard blinks around in the area he has landed in, getting his bearings. He rises to his knees as the doors surrounding him in the caged area rise, revealing shapeshifters in animal and warrior form, shifters with no control, gone Loup and crazy, eager for blood.

Richard pulls his sword fully from his back as the predators slowly exit their individual holding areas, beginning to circle him. He unclips his SMG as he glances back and forth, focusing on no single figure, but looking for the quick motion of a pounce, the first one to strike. There is a wide ranging array of shapeshifter species, a were-bear, were-leopard, were-wolf, were-hyena, were-lion and what looks like a were-mongoose.

Richard knows he will die tonight, six shapeshifters against a normal human is tremendous odds. Despite that, he is determined not to go down without a fight, he was an Army Ranger, and a soldier since coming of age. He eases to a one handed grip on his katana, his left hand reaching slowly for his throwing knives, and blanks all thought from his head, preparing for the fight ahead.

Davis watches as the Merc is thrown from the catwalk, and he drops his own pistol, knowing the magic wave made it inoperative. He carefully pulls his pistol crossbow from his side as the witch that had thrown his deputized Ranger from the catwalk watches him land below and raises the gates to the pens on the cages below.

Davis raises the crossbow and fires in reflex, just like he does at the range, and the small bolt strikes the witch in the neck, flashing through the wards protecting her and spraying her blood in an arc in the dim hold of the ship. He turns away from the dying woman and pulls his first aid gear from the pouch on his hip, applying the med mage bandage to where he had taken the bullet in his hip and his abdomen, slowing the bleeding.

He is going into shock and he knows it, hearing the Merc, Richard, fighting for his life below him in the pit against the Loup shapeshifters, but needing to keep all his focus on tending his own wounds. His aid pack is quickly used almost entirely up, and he is stable enough to take a deep breath. His nerves focused for a moment, he keys his mike on his radio. He calls for backup twice before realizing that it will not work while the tech is down.

He chuckles to himself hysterically, the shock taking him completely, and after a long few moments of crazy laughter, he pauses and listens. There is nothing, no sound, just the hollow echo of the massive hold he is sitting in. He blinks a number of times before realizing that he does not hear the shapeshifters fighting for the scraps of meat on the Merc's bones, and he shifts around to look into the pit below him.

Lying in the pit are the bodies of six shapeshifters of various species, all bleeding and broken, limp on the ground in their death poses, and in the center of the mayhem is the Merc, Richard. The Merc is lying in a pool of blood, and Davis cannot tell if he is alive or not, but for some reason, he reaches for his last med mage patch in his hip pouch, having had no space to put it on himself, and he drops it down to the Merc, his aim off and his mind dreamy as he does.

Richard is looking up when the patch drops and lands beside him, and does not react at first. Then his hand drifts to the patch and pulls it to himself slowly, then carefully applies it to his thigh, which is shredded and bleeding on the dirty hold.

Richard blinks at the light before him, groggily raising his hand before him as he regains consciousness. The last thing he remembers, he was fighting for his life against a bunch of shapeshifters, then pain, and… then nothing. At the moment, he is in a hospital bed, and he is having difficulty focusing, all he can see are shapes, and the pain in his chest, legs and left arm.

"What happened?" he says through his cotton filled mouth.

No one answers him, or if they do, it is incoherent to his ears. He has enough sense to realize how bad he must be for him to be unable to hear anything when the light fades again and he is plunged into darkness.

Richard regains consciousness slowly, noting immediately he is in a hospital bed. Soon after he can tell he has an IV, and bandages over a good portion of his body. He also notes he is in restraints.

He opens his eyes slowly, taking in a stereotypical hospital room. His wrists and ankles are secured to the bed with heavy leather straps, the IV is threaded into his hand, and a pair of SWAT officers in light tactical gear are standing in opposite corners of the room, 12 gauge shotguns lowered but ready.

"Call your boss," he says, his mind retracing the operation he had been on with the Rangers. "And a nurse for water, please."

One of the SWAT officers leans over and knocks on the door, and after a few long moments a stout female nurse enters with a clipboard. She has taken updated vital readings and has given him a drink of water when a pair of men enter.

One of the men he does not recognize, he is average height in a dark, moderately priced suit with dark brown hair and light eyes. The other wears jeans, cowboy boots and a cowboy hat.

"Shit, a Fed and the City's Chief Ranger," Richard says, adjusting his seat minutely in the bed. "This can't be good."

"No, it isn't," the man in the suit says with a professional frown.

The Chief Ranger, Roberts, steps to Richard and lays his hand on the younger man's forearm. Roberts is in his fifties and a career Texas Ranger, seen it all and done it all.

"You killed all six, Rick," the old Ranger says with an admiring shake of his head. "Don't know how you did it, but you did."

"Any of the Rangers make it?" Richard asks, laying his head back down.

"You and two others, all of you were pretty bad off," he says, then gestures over his shoulder. "The Feds came in and cleaned up."

"Figures," he whispers to himself, and wonders if he will get paid or not. When the mission goes south, the clients often do not want to pay.

"Mr Michaels," the man in the suit says, clearing his throat. "You were attacked by six Loup shapeshifters of varying species. Chances are high that you have been contaminated with Lyc-V, the virus that—"

"I know what it does," Richard says firmly. "So, does the local Pack know, yet?"

"Yeah," Roberts says with a frown, shifting his shoulders. "They got an ambulance waiting to transfer you to their facility outside town. The Feds have agreed."

Richard takes a deep breath, looking at his lap as he does, then nods, "Better let them take me, then, sir."

"You're one of us, Rick," Roberts says with a hard tone and shifting his hand to the younger man's shoulder. "You fought and nearly died as hard any Ranger I ever served with. I won't let you be taken away by those animals."

"They ain't all animals, sir, you know that," he corrects him with a frown and a deep breath. "And they are the ones that can show me how to not go Loup the first time I change. I don't like most of the local ones myself, but it's the best chance I got."

"Dammit, son," Roberts says with a scowl, crossing his arms. "Why'd you have to go get cut up and bit like that?"

"Better question is 'How did he survive?'," the Fed says from behind the Ranger. "Rarely has a normal human fought a shapeshifter and won, much less against six."

"I was lucky," Richard says. "Chief, let them take me, and I'll call you after the next full moon."

The ride out of town is unassuming, and Richard discovers during transport that most of his injuries from the fight have healed, and that he had been in a drug induced coma for over a week. Also, that the next full moon is less than a week away. He assumes the people handling him are shapeshifters, though they all say nothing to him, and he offers no resistance as they load his bed into the ambulance.

He understands their precautions. He is secured now, better to keep him that way and find out his mindset and get a feel for him before they give him any freedom. A forty five minute ride later, the tech wave up, and they are pulling into a dirt road that goes into the trees off the interstate, and to a large mansion ten minutes later.

The mansion looks like it was displaced from the deep south during the civil war era, but with better materials and concessions to modern living, including fences and barb wire, and paved front walks. They unload him from the ambulance and wheel the bed into the house, into an elevator then to a secure room somewhere beneath ground. Richard sits alone in the room for a good ten minutes before he is visited.

The door opens and a man, perhaps six foot two, enters. He has blond hair going gray in a few inches on his head and cut into a mutton chop style. He is wearing jeans and a denim vest, but no shirt underneath, showing wiry blond-gray chest hairs. Richard recognizes him from previous jobs.

"Davey, am I glad to see you," Richard says with a laugh, and is surprised he means it. He and Davey have worked a few jobs together over the years through the Merc Guild and were on good terms.

"Rick, I don't got much time, so listen and answer my questions straight, got it?" he says without greeting, his face somber.

Richard nods, also serious now.

"What types of shifters were there, and did one cut up on you more than another?"

"Bear, wolf, leopard, hyena, mongoose and lion," he answers calmly, though his pulse picks up as he thinks over the fight. "The mongoose struck first, but I don't think he got past the leather and Kevlar armor I wore. After that, they all tagged me at least once, I think. And I was laying in a pool of all the blood with open wounds for a while. The details are kinda hazy, sorry."

Davey frowns and looks to where a black ball is in the corner, "Rick, that ain't good."

"I know, not everyone survives the transformation, and a good number go Loup even if prepared," Richard says with a nod, sighing and wishing he could at least scratch his head.

"That ain't all of it, brother," the werewolf says with a touch of sadness in his country tone. "If you get cut by more than one, the strains will often fight to find out what you become. You might not survive that, either."

Richard swallows, not knowing that previously, but also noting that Davey's tone is similar to the one he has used himself on dying comrades.

"What are my odds?" he asks, swallowing.

"Five percent, and that's stretching it," he says as he shifts from foot to foot.

"Will I be allowed to move about at all?" he asks.

"We're far enough from town that if you go Loup early, we'll get you first," Davey assures him with a nod. "And we'll keep a guard with you at all times to make sure."

"Okay," he says with a steadying breath. "Can I get some pants and something to eat?"

"So who's in charge?" Richard asks, glancing around as he and Davey eat in a large communal lunch hall, what was the dining room of the house and with three folding tables in it with chairs.

"You don't get to find out until you survive," Davey says. "Sorry, rules of the Pack."

"I am going to have to re-wire the way I think, won't I?" he asks with a frown.

"Yeah," Davey agrees, cutting up his steak along with Richard. "But you got most of it already. It's the details and etiquette you'll have to work on. If you make it through this, you'll have a sponsor from your Clan, be it Wolf, Cat, Bouda or Heavy."

"What do I need to know for now?" Richard asks, glancing around at the few people in the hall, ten or so total, and mentally categorizing whether they are fighters or not.

"Stop casing the place, for one," Davey says, getting Richard' attention. "The mansion is neutral ground, belongs to the Pack as a whole. But you don't know what Clan you are going to, so you can't just stare down anybody, like when you were human. Until you shift and know, avoid eye contact and just follow me."

"Are you my sponsor?" Richard asks, tilting his head at his part time partner.

"Until you shift, yeah," he says with a nod and a shrug. "I heard what you did, and you never judged any of us in the Guild because we was shifters. You gave us a fair shake, figure you deserve the same."

"I paid attention to what you and others said, I know not all the clans are fair, or just," Richard says in a nearly inaudible tone, Davey barely hearing him.

"We're working towards what Atlanta has done," Davey says in a similar tone. "The only reason it's starting to take, slowly, is because Clan Heavy is leading and strong."

"Well, we'll see where I end up, then," Richard says with a sigh, sipping his juice.

Richard stands uncomfortably in the open field behind the Mansion. Moonrise is a few minutes away, and he is circled by the Clan Leaders, all in animal form. A massive Jaguar larger than a normal one is there for Clan Cat, a Grizzly Bear in hybrid form for Clan Heavy, a Wolf in warrior hybrid form for Wolf, and a Jackel the size of a medium horse for Clan Bouda.

He is wearing a pair of cut off sweat pants, still not comfortable with the idea of being completely nude. He has been made to wait since sundown, the shifted Clan Leaders joining him shortly thereafter, already in animal or hybrid form. A howl of a wolf pierces the darkness, and a twitching sensation runs up his back and limbs as the tip of the moon rises in the distance.

His muscles and limbs shake and he falls to all fours, feeling a pressure from within as pain builds and sparks. His bones break, shifting to new forms, and he growls deep in his throat at the pain, but refusing to scream. His skin splits and melts away, and he can feel his teeth are now longer in his mouth, now a muzzle. He shifts on his four feet, braced on the ground as he shakes himself in his new form.

He arcs his back and roars at the night, his feline form of a tiger like cat nearly the size of a full grown horse, and solidly built. He looks around the clearing at the others gathered, and his mind struggles for a moment to remember what is going on, who they are. He bristles at first, recognizing them as predators, like him, but then he shakes his head, clearing the thoughts away.

_I am Richard Michaels_, he tells himself, _I am in control, not the beast within me_.

He struggles mentally, outwardly just staring at the ground before him until he finally shakes himself, turns in a circle, then sits on his haunches, facing the Jaguar who is Alpha to Clan Cat. The Alpha rises to his feet and paces around him while the other Clan leaders all turn and leave them. The Jaguar studies him in the torch and moonlight. Richard is not just a tiger, but a tan tiger, his body brown/tan with the downward stripes from his back a black and gray color.

The Jaguar stops in front of Richard, and they stare at each other for a long moment, a tension rising, then the Jaguar tilts his head, leading the tiger into the forest to hunt.

Richard walks up the dirt road of Clan Cat in a pair of sweatpants, barefoot and without a shirt. He had woken up a half hour ago, alone in a field and with the scent of the Alpha leading this way. They had left him pants, so he is grateful for that much at least. He pauses at the edge of the field as he examines the log cabin before him.

The mansion was large, and the cabin is as well, but in disrepair. The yard also has a number of cars in it, as well as a few trucks. The term redneck screams in his head, and not the kind he is, but the unflattering hick type. He approaches the front porch and an old gray haired woman sitting in a rocker.

"You the tiger from last night?" she asks, head tilted to the side.

"Yes, ma'am," Richard says politely, pausing at the foot of the steps.

"Danny and the boys will be with you in a few," she says with a scowl, spitting to the side.

Richard says nothing, but turns and studies the area for a moment before sitting cross legged on the ground a dozen yards from the porch in an open area of brown patched grass yard. He slows and regulates his breathing, striving to feel his surroundings as he waits. He narrows his eyes to slits as he inhales the smells of the area, rusted metal, dry grass, the old house and surrounding area.

He identifies the scent of the woman and four or five others in the immediate area that have been here recently, though he is not sure how recent. The sensitivity to scents is new and he will need to work on it more. Sound from the house pulls him from his thoughts and he watches as a man in his forties exits the house, three other men with him, all younger and similar looking.

"You the tiger from last night?" the older man says, his lean figure and black hair reminding Richard of the Jaguar from last night.

"That's me," Richard replies, rising to his feet.

The man frowns, and Richard studies him as he waits. The man is a bit taller than him, just short of six feet, a bit wider in the shoulders, wearing a pair of jeans and a denim vest, no undershirt. Again, the mental image Richard had assigned to the redneck that owned the yard. The others, late teenagers or early twenties he would guess, are in cut up shirts and jeans as well.

"Don't look at me like that, boy, or we'll have problems," the man says, and Richard forces his gaze to the man's feet, though inwardly he bristles.

He may be new to the shapeshifters, but in human cultures things still transfer to animals. He can feel the difference between himself and this group already, he was used to structure, order. This feels like bullying. Time will tell.

"Set your affairs in order, be back before sundown, down by the mansion," the man says. "My name's Danny, Clan Cat Alpha. We have bonfires and grilling nights of the full moon and weekends. Attendance is mandatory."

Richard nods, not making eye contact and jogs away without looking back, worried that if he did he would do something bad.

Richard sits on the bench with others from Clan Cat, feeling at odds with the atmosphere. The Alpha, Danny, ruled through intimidation and ran it more like a biker club than what Davey had described. His kids were the enforcers, and they ganged up on anyone who stepped out of line. It rubs him wrong and he wonders how he can either go solo or get out of town.

He is in the part of the large field behind the mansion for the Clan Cat portion of the Pack. He guesses that there's a couple of hundred in the Clan, far more than he'd thought, but looking at them, they seem like normal people. Normal, meaning not soldiers or bouncers or anything like that, just folks who go to work everyday and make a living, they just happen to be shapeshifters, and few of them seem to be a dominant type.

He had glanced at the other clans, and of them all, Clan Cat is the least organized. Clan Heavy reminds him of off duty mercs, and recognizes some as such, heavy hitters and bodybuilding lifters with a few exceptions. Clan Wolf is in subgroups and all wear colored shirts in their groups, a visual distinction that even outsiders can blatantly see. Clan Bouda reminds him of what he sees in the movies for the rich and famous parties, white shirts and slacks, khaki or otherwise.

Clan cat is a mixed match, less organized, but a bit more relaxed, except near where Danny and his folks sit, where the tension is racked up high. Richard is on the edge of that area, since it's his first time at the gathering. They had all either brought their own food or shared it out, and he'd brought a pair of footlong subs for himself, and water, as he is unsure of the customs and no one seems willing to share.

Danny and his boys had grilled over an open fire and shared with a few select folks, mostly bouncer looking guys, but Richard is unimpressed. They move well, but seem to have the wrong focus, watching the wrong things. He couldn't explain it easily to someone who does not hunt or work security. They aren't dangerous in his head.

That's not the only feeling that isn't right, either. They have some of the folks from the Clan serving them. He doesn't think that's wrong, per se, but they don't treat them well, making him think of the slave owners talking to the slaves in old movies. It rubs him wrong, really wrong, and his nerves are fraying just from watching. Richard is trying to just watch and blend in, wearing jeans and a grey t-shirt, barefoot like everyone else.

It's nearing dark, and moonrise is about two hours away if Richard recalls his timeline for today. He'd studied the rising and setting, knowing it would affect him and the others, and finally something happens that pushes him over the edge.

Danny shoves one of the younger guys serving, a skinny guy in his early twenties, in shorts and a tshirt, non-descript with dirty brown hair to his shoulders. Danny and his kids laugh when the guy falls, and the younger guys circle around him kicking some dirt at him. The young guy holds his hands up defensively, and Richard just can't take it.

Richard is up from his seat and striding into the center area for the Clan before he mentally realizes what he's doing, and has placed himself between the young man and where Danny is. The younger ones are snickering and muttering taunts as Richard turns and looks at them all from under his lowered eyebrows.

"You're cruising for a whoopin', boy," Danny says with exaggerated drawl, a low growl in his voice.

"Back off," Richard growls back, not hiding the threat. "This is your warning."

Danny slowly takes two steps to close the distance, then lunges suddenly, swinging his right fist at Richard's head. Richard sways backwards and dips slightly, avoiding the blow and simultaneously snaking his right arm up inside the swing. His right palm connects solidly with Danny's chin and the bigger man stumbles, dazed. Richard lunges and throws his elbow into Danny's ribs, then grabs his ankle with both hands and heaves his legs off the ground.

Danny twists awkwardly in the air, dazed and hurt from the sudden counterattacks and lands badly on his shoulders and head. Richard turns to the sons on his left, those closest and who are starting to advance, realizing what is happening. Richard steps into the closet quickly, blocking the man's swing and head butts him in the solar plexus, then shoving him with both hands. The younger man and Danny's son is tossed backwards into another son and they both tumble to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

Richard turns to the other pair of sons, and points at the lead one who has suddenly pulled a knife from his belt.

"Put it away," Richard says clearly. "You don't want to escalate this."

"I'm gonna fuck you up!" the younger man says, probably in his late twenties compared to Richard's early thirties.

"Drop it or you lose a hand," he warns him, forcing his breathing to slow despite the roaring in his chest from his beast, wanting to rip and tear the others apart.

The man lunges at Richard, who has pulled his own knife from his pocket. He cuts across the inside of the younger's arm, then across the tricept, thrusts into and around the thigh, then shoves the man forward. He stumbles and falls, his right leg useless and his right arm bleeding. Richard is on his back already, and sweeps the man's left arm out from under him, extending it and pinning it on the ground in front of them.

His knife reversed in his grip, he stabs down into the man's wrist, severing one, then the other bone from the hand. The man screams and Richard rolls away, picking up the severed hand as he does. He rises with deep breaths, mentally shoving his beast into a cage while staring down the surrounding crowd who has circled them but keeps away from the fighting.

The last son is staring at Richard and after a moment, slowly lowers his own drawn knife to the ground. Richard nods, then gestures to the man with the missing hand.

"Put a tourniquet on that, or he'll bleed out," he says.

The younger man nods and rushes to his brother's side, and Richard turns to where Danny is crouched, frowning deeply at him, holding his side.

"That's my boy," Danny growls.

"He was warned," Richard says, wiping his blade on his pant leg, then replacing it in his pocket. "If he's lucky, they might be able to reattach it," he adds, tossing the severed hand at Danny's feet.

Richard turns and walks away to where he had been sitting, his ears straining in case Danny aims for a quick revenge. Danny doesn't move, and his boys only lick their wounds as he retrieves his beer from next to the cleared bench he'd been sitting at. He takes a long pull from the beer, still internally wrestling with his beast.

The smell of blood had nearly unhinged him, and it had taken much more willpower than he'd thought to give the hand back. He wanted to keep it, and part of him wanted to chew the meat off. He takes another drink of his beer, finishing it off as he pushes away the mental image of eating the flesh off a man's hand.

He strides to the cooler, the crowd parting for him, and tosses his bottle away while pulling another out. The majority of the people are afraid, and don't want trouble, but he can sense some others entering the Clan area, folks from the Pack leadership, Alphas either of a Clan or simply in mindset. He opens the beer and scans the crowd, mentally picking them out as he does.

His eyes catch and stop as they pass over a woman, twenty or so yards away in the crowd. Her eyes are pale blue and piercing, her hair dirty blond and her face square, handsome rather than beautiful. His attention is pulled by the sound of the old woman from earlier in the day yelling.

"You sonofabitch!" she screams, striding across the area where the fight had been. "My boys!"

Richard turns and squares off with her, resigning himself to brow beating an old woman, but a gunshot goes off and he staggers back from the blow. Another goes off and he falls, pain exploding in his chest, on his left side. He's on the ground and his chest feels like its on fire, his arm clutched over his chest as he bleeds into the ground and his vision is red.

He is snarling at the old woman who is now held by two others, a large revolver being pulled from her hand. He pulls his legs beneath himself to pounce, but suddenly the blue eyes from the woman he'd seen are in front of him. He pauses in his leap, though a growl still escapes from his throat.

"Easy, tiger," she croons soothingly, kneeling and bringing her eyes level with his. "The Pack is here, _we_ are here."

"She…" he starts to growl, but the effort of fighting his beast while his side burns and bleeds is too much. He shuts his eyes hard against the pain and effort as he trails off.

"She broke the Law," she says, her tone hard, and Richard looks back at her. "Look at me, tiger. Focus. She brought a gun, which is forbidden. We will deal with her. You are safe."

"What—what did she hit me with?" he manages to slowly growl out, letting himself sink to the ground, his legs starting to give out, he feels himself weakening.

"Silver shot from .410 pistol, looks like," someone says to the side, a male voice, but the woman snaps her fingers in front of his face to pull his eyes back to hers. "You will die if it isn't pulled out."

"What do I do?" he asks, focusing on her eyes, her face, as his vision tunnels from the pain and blood loss, lying on his side now and she is arm's distance away.

"This will hurt, a lot. Don't shift," she says, taking his right hand in hers, and he grips it with white knuckles as his left arm is pulled out straight, pain exploding in his side.

Weight is placed on his arm and it is pinned to the ground as someone starts poking him in the side with what feels like a hot poker. He grits his teeth and stares intensely at the woman's face and eyes, his legs rigidly straight as he maintains the death grip with the woman's hand. He can hear others talking, sense the movement, but he tries to breath evenly, fighting to keep his beast contained as pain racks his breathing, his breath shorter and painful as his side is worked on.

"Does anything still burn?" a male voice asks, on his left near his hip.

Richard's breath catches, and he says in an even tone that is more growl than voice, "Yes, I can't breathe on the left, it burns on the ribs."

"A pellet is wedged between the ribs," the voice says. "Brace yourself."

Richard gasps and grabs the back of the woman's head on instinct as his side flares with pain again, this time grating as well as burning. The woman has braced herself and she has her own hand on Richard's bare chest as he holds the back of her neck, his fingers intertwined with her hair. The feel of her hair calms his beast, comforts him, despite the pain.

"How does it feel now?" the voice asks again.

"It hurts, but…" he takes a deep breath, fighting his beast against the throbbing pain. "Not burning."

"The silver is out. It will take time to heal, but it will heal," the woman says, helping him to sit up slowly.

The man who had been working on him, an Asian man from his looks, gray mixed in his finger long hair, is placing a bandage against his side in a makeshift bandage.

"My name is Tom," the man says with no accent. "I work as a med mage. You will be fine, but you need to eat to fuel the healing. And change the bandage every ten minutes for the first hour."

"Thank you," Richard says, and turns back to the woman who has started to move away.

Before he can say anything, a man is standing in front of him, his presence dominating. Richard pauses, sitting on his butt, his left arm cradled against his injured chest and ribs, and barely braced with his right hand on the ground. He knows not to admit weakness, but his position is far from optimal right now. The man isn't tall, probably five foot nine or five ten, though he's very wide in the shoulders and hips, a solid powerlifter physique.

"My name is Noel," the man says in a slow growl of a voice, more like a rockslide than a voice. The man has black hair with streaks of gray that reaches his shoulders, tattoos on his bare arms, wearing only a leather vest with his jeans. "I am the Alpha of Clan Heavy and on the Pack Council. The Pack is sorry you were treated this way."

The man reaches out a hand to help Richard up, and he pauses before taking it, but accepts, unsure if he could stand without help. As he rises, the sharp pain in his side and dizziness answer his own question. He pauses when standing, gathering himself, and Noel says nothing, waiting patiently.

"What is going to happen?" Richard asks after only a moment, words a safe way to buy time.

"She broke Pack Law by bringing a gun to the gathering," Noel explains, gesturing to where the woman is held in the distance, where the Clan groups intersect and the Council meets. "The Pack Council and the Pack Lord will deal with her."

Richard nods, blood loss and his raging beast within making focusing on the distant scene difficult. "And them?" he asks, gesturing with his chin to Danny and his kids, around which members of the other Clans are gathered, a buffer between Danny's people and Richard.

Noel purses his lips, and Richard waits for the man to speak, in the end he only shrugs and looks to Richard for a long moment.

"I am too new to the Pack to be an Alpha," Richard says in a quiet tone, hoping to keep the conversation as confidential as possible. "I don't know the customs well enough to be in charge."

Noel twitches an eyebrow and glances at the distant figures of the Pack Council, then back at Richard.

Richard hardens his jaw and straightens his shoulders, then starts walking towards the Council, a hundred yards distant. The grass, mostly dry with some green patches, is rough under his bare feet, but the warm wind on his chest feels good. He has only stepped ten yards away when the magic wave hits, and he stops in mid stride, his beast roaring in him.

His side itches irresistibly and he tears off the bandage, rubbing the skin beneath. He's wiped it twice before realizing that his ribs and lung had been exposed only a few minutes ago. He drops his hand and takes a centering breath, controlling his beast and looking around at the Clan. A number of the shapeshifters have changed to their other forms, the combination of the moon and the magic too much. Richard can feel it calling, and he grits his teeth against it, resisting the change.

"Details will be worked out tomorrow," Noel says from behind him, his own voice rougher. "I will relay your message to the Lord, you must change, and feed your beast. Know that you have done well, and will be rewarded."

Richard nods at Noel as the older man walks past him towards the council. He suppresses the urge to pounce, and instead lowers himself to a crouch in the grass, breathing deep. His stomach growls in hunger, the healing gnawing at his appetite, despite having had a large dinner.

His beast won't be held much longer. He strips out of his jeans, then stands and roars at the night as he feels the change grip him. His skin stretches and rips, his bones break and knit, and fur sprouts from his body. One second a man stood in the clearing with the others, but now his tiger stands on two feet, roaring at the sky before falling to all fours.

Richard takes a deep, cleansing breath as the pain in his side is gone, and the scents of the wind sing to him and his sensitive nose. He feels alive and complete, home.

Richard looks at the plot of land off the interstate and ley line and frowns as he studies it. Thirty acres of land, three copses of trees, but lots of tall grass and two streams running through it towards the coast.

"How much?" he asks the realtor, having finished walking the grounds alone.

"Twenty two five," the middle aged woman and Clan Cat member says. "Good rate, too, given your credit history. No power or water lines, though, or sewer."

"I'll make due," he says with a wave off of the details that he already knows. "How long to finish the paperwork?"

"A week or so," she says, making a note on her paper. "Do you need a ride back to town?"

"No," he says with a shake of his head, picking up the large backpack he had brought with them. "I'll stay the night and walk back in the morning."

Richard watches her drive off, then sets up a small campsite next to the stream away from the road. The army had taught him to live off the land more effectively than his childhood had, and since turning it had become even easier. The next morning, just after dawn, he walks to the ley line and then into town. After flagging down a buggy cart, he has the driver take him to the north of town, having come from the west, and to the mansion.

The horse drawn taxi drops him on the front road, and he hefts his pack after paying the driver. He takes a breath and walks up the main drive to the house, passing a guard shack along the way. The guard is a member of Clan Wolf but waves him through with a nod.

At the front porch, Richard stands and waits for a moment, still unsure of protocol and process. The fight had been two days ago, and he is unsure of his place in his Clan or the Pack. This is the one of only five or so places he's certain has a Pack presence and the only one he knows for sure has leadership.

Noel steps out from the front door, wearing black jeans, leather vest and a t-shirt with sunglasses and a long necked pipe lit in his hand. He carefully tamps the tobacco in the bowl while studying Richard, then lights the pipe and puffs it alight, smoke rising from him. He pauses with the tip in his mouth, then descends the steps slowly and pauses a few feet from Richard.

"They didn't explain shit to you, did they?" Noel asks in a low growl, frowning at him through his glasses.

"Barely a word," Richard says with a nod. "If it weren't for Davey and the few I've worked with in the Guild, I wouldn't know the little I got."

"Clan Cat is being disbanded," Noel says with nod to the distance and the two men walk side by side down a dirt path around the house. "Danny and his family have been in charge for about a decade, screwed it up really bad. Finances and discipline are shit. Clan members from Cat are being taken into the other Clans."

"What do I do to get into another Clan?" Richard asks, his mind racing over what his next step in life.

Noel snorts, "You could petition for any of them, they'd take you, but I'm asking you to come to Heavy. We're a mixed group, and we have a Pride of were-lions in the Clan. You'd be welcome."

"You're the Alpha?" Richard asks, tilting his head at him.

"Yeah, any problem with that?" Noel asks, bushy black eyebrow raised.

"No, just curious," Richard says with a respectful nod. "I remember your form, the warrior form of a black bear. Impressive."

"Thanks," Noel says with a nod. "I'm going to assign someone to teach you the details of life in the Clan and the Pack. We're more structured in Heavy than Cat, though not at picky as Wolf, since we're mixed species."

"Can't be less structured than Cat was," Richard says with a snort.

Noel chuckles in agreement, "I know you do Merc work and freelance, but I'd like to put you to use organizing parts of the Clan, if you're interested. The Pack Lord wants to get us more organized, like the Atlanta Pack has, to maximize our efforts. I think your military background could be of use."

"I'll see what I can do," Richard says with a nod as they arrive in an open area under a tree in the back of the house, a picnic table nearby.

"Wait here, your guide will be here in a few minutes," Noel says, then departs after a firm handshake between them.

Richard pulls off his boots, short cloak and shirt, then sits cross legged in the open next to the table, his pack leaning on a table leg with his sword. He looks out at the stream, the trees and the open fields as the sun slants across the grass and creatures of the day.

He sits bare-chested and barefoot, breathing deep through his nose and searching the grass and trees for life and movement. His senses heightened by the shift, having only partially enhanced senses before his first shift, he drinks in the wilderness and the nuances of the world as he now perceives it. The smell of the grass, the shift of the leaves in the wind, the sharpness of the moving animals despite the distance.

His nose flares as he catches a new scent, but he remains still otherwise. He can hear the slightest scrape of a soft surface on the ground behind him, someone padding along the grass. A series of soft clacks, wood on wood, and the settling of a plate sitting on a wood tabletop.

"If you are ready, breakfast is here," a female voice says behind him, familiar.

Richard rises smoothly to his feet, twisting on the balls of his feet as he rises to the speaker, his heart hammering in his chest. It is the woman from the other night who had helped him and held his hand. She is a short, moderately stocky young woman with dirty blond hair barely touching her shoulders, many braids tight against her head and loose. Her eyes are still the striking pale blue, and her face square with an aggressive set to it. She is wearing jeans and a v neck white t-shirt, similar to what he has seen others in the mansion wear, and he wonders if that is code for something.

"Your meal is from the Clan," she says, waving to the high protein meal of bacon, ham, eggs in heaping piles on a short tray sitting on the table. "My name is Tasha, I will be your sponsor."

"I am Richard Michaels," he replies with a slight bow, his eyes locked on hers the entire time, then sits at the table to eat off the tray and plate. "Is it right to offer some food, or does that have a deeper meaning I don't understand?"

"Dominant members offer food to subordinates as a sign of dominance and submission. The Clan offers you food, and you accept as a sign of submission to the Clan," she explains in a moderate contralto, her eyebrow quirking slightly to find him asking the question.

"So, that would be me trying to establish dominance over you if I offered you food," he says, reasoning it out loud, a slight question.

"Yes," she says with a nod, "or it means that you intend to mate with me, and it is a token of affection."

He smirks at that, shaking his head, "Don't want to do either of those… yet. I don't know you, yet. Except the other night when you helped control my beast. Thank you for that."

"We have met," she corrects him, sitting on the bench of the table across from him and ignoring his thanks, though looking away for a moment. "In the Merc Guild. We met at a couple of functions and meetings, never worked together, though. Davey has good things to say about you."

"Thank you," Richard says around a mouth of ham, mentally controlling himself, as he has no idea if she interested in him or not. "What is your focus with the Guild?"

"I have some magic capacity, I use handguns when tech is up, and have a good intel network," she says with a confident nod. "Not real good at blade work or longer distance firearms, though I'm real good in animal form."

"What is your animal?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"Can you guess?" she asks, raising her chin in challenge.

Richard narrows his eyes and thinks, focusing on the scent that is her. He can smell skin and shampoo from her hair, hints of dry grass, rich earth and a river, though he pictures in his head pastures and fields.

"Lion, African," he says his eyes regaining focus and looking at her. "You smell of the savanna, with a hint of the Nile."

Her serious demeanor cracks and she smirks at him, "Good guess. Most peg me as a mountain lion, or a leopard. And you are learning to use your nose. Most new shapeshifters take weeks to learn."

"I was a believer in using my nose since I joined the Army," he says with a nod. "When I started doing more field ops, my youth hunting adventures with my family paid off, and sharpened my skills. Humans can smell more if they pay attention."

"The next few days you will be getting familiar with the way Clan Heavy behaves, rules and hierarchy," she begins to explain. "In five days' time, Saturday night, you will present yourself to the Pack Alpha, and if you have passed all the knowledge tests and other requisites, you will be tested by fire, then given a task, to join the Pack."

"Tested by fire, what does that mean?" he asks.

"We, shapeshifters, are truly defined by our power over our animals, our discipline," she explains. "The fire is the true test, as a Loup cannot maintain his form and mind when burnt, he will lose control."

"So, if I don't go crazy when I volunteer to get burned, I'm given a mission, and then I'm in," he says out loud, so he understands.

"More or less," she says with a bob of her head. "You will swear fealty and loyalty to the Pack and your Clan."

"I swear to the Pack, or to the Alpha?" he asks, wanting to clarify.

Tasha smiles slyly at his attention to detail, "To the Pack and Clan. Alphas die and change, but the Clans and the Pack remain. We were here before the Tech came back, and will remain through the waves to come."

"So who will be giving me these lessons?" he asks, finishing up his meal.

"I will," she says, a small smile edged on her otherwise serious face.

_I think I will like the next few days_, Richard thinks to himself.

Richard looks at the gathered crowd in the large, sparsely treed area behind the mansion. There are probably over four hundred people here, all shapeshifters, the most influential or powerful of all the Clans and Pack. He is the only one being presented, though, and he shakes off his nervousness as the signal is given, a series of drum beats, and he begins his walk through the crowd to the front.

He wears a pair of black jeans, bare chested and bare foot, most of the others present dressed similarly in pants or shorts and either no shirt or a sports bra. He stalks through the crowd, his attention everywhere as he walks through the Pack members to the center cleared area. The part he walks through is composed of Clan Heavy, and most keep out of his way and do not interfere with his walk.

When he is nearly at the open area, however, someone lashes out from a cluster and almost catches his left knee. Richard dodges out of the way and hops backward to get some space and face his attacker. He is a black man, with short faded hair in a pair of black sweatpants, and stands probably just over six feet, though he is currently hunched over, looking to be ready to pounce.

A low growl escapes Richard's throat, and he reigns in his instinct to pounce, and instead, tilts his head and yells to the center area.

"Alpha?" a simple question for guidance, he is unsure of the exact wording he is supposed to use.

"Subdue him," Noel says simply from where he has moved to the edge of the open area, the other Alpha's all behind him.

The black man growls in response, his fingers sprouting talons and his face teeth. Richard crouches a touch more, patient, and the other man leaps at him. Richard adjusts his feet and his center of mass, and when the man reaches him he grabs the man's wrists from underneath, twists and jumps, bringing his knee explosively into the man's abdomen. Richard pulls his other leg up and over the man's body in mid-air, and lands with his knee driving the man into the ground.

The man has no air in his chest and is dazed from the pair of strikes. Richard flips the man to his stomach, keeping an arm, then twists and locks the arm up behind the man's back. He twists, then shoves it up, breaking the shoulder. The man howls in pain, arcing his back, and shoves up with his good arm.

Richard releases the man's arm and rises as the man bucks, wrapping his arms around the man's neck and squeezing as he drops backward, his legs wrapping around him from behind. In a few breaths time, the man is limp in Richard's arms, and he pushes the unconscious form away.

Richard rises to his feet, not even breathing hard, and resumes his walk to the center. A path is cleared for him as he walks, and is soon standing in the center. Noel stands before him, and Richard takes a knee in front of him.

"I have petitioned for admission to the Pack," Richard says with his head high and speaking loudly so all can here. "I have completed the tests, and present myself for judgment."

Noel looks down at Richard for a long moment, "I, Noel of Clan Heavy, accept your petition, and accept you into the Clan. Swear your oath."

"I swear loyalty and fealty to the Clan, to aid my brothers and sisters of the Clan, and to obey my rightful superiors," Richard says, lifting his left arm out above his head, wrist pointed to Noel.

Noel takes Richard's hand in his left, pulling a scalding brand from a man behind him, then presses the red hot metal into the flesh in Richard's wrist. Richard grunts at the pain, his skin sweating and he can feel a clenching in his chest, as though his soul is fighting to fly away. The brand is removed, and Richard continues to breathe, regulating his breaths so as to not hyperventilate. Noel nods in approval.

"Stand, Richard Michaels, and welcome to the Clan," he says, then reaches out his right hand and shakes Richard's with a warrior's grip.

There are a series of cheers behind them in the Heavy section of the gathering, and Noel now leads Richard to the center of the open area, where the remainder of the Alphas stand, a brazier with three foot high flames licking the air. They both take a knee before the Alpha of the Pack.

The man standing there is a touch taller than Richard, with blond hair so bright to be nearly white, his face chiseled in a Greek sculptor's dream model. Olive toned skin, and his body lean and elegant looking, he seems a leader, but not necessarily a fighter. His deep blue, nearly purple eyes seem to look through both Noel and Richard when they kneel before him.

"Alpha, I present Richard Michaels for admittance into the Pack," Noel says with a raised head.

"Swear the oath and greet the fire," the man says, his voice loud but aloof, and the sound of it sends goosebumps up Richard's spine.

Richard repeats his oath, this time to the Pack, then rises and walks to the brazier. With the brand, it was forced and he had to bear it, but now he must thrust his hand into the flames of his own accord, and hold it to the count of ten. Richard raises his right fist before him, then extends his open hand into the flames with only the barest of hesitations.

Before it had felt as though his soul were trying to fly, but now it feels like a caged animal is ripping at the bars of its prison. He holds his arm in the flames and stares through them to the coals beneath. He does not count, or keep track of time, but focuses on the glowing embers, and pushing the pain of the burn and his raging beast aside.

Finally, he draws his arm out and holds it in front of him, staring at his blackened, blistering meat of a hand, his hand, as he breathes deep and with sweat on the exposed skin of his body. He turns from the fire to the Alphas, and notices that they are silent, as is the crowd surrounding them. Richard is unsure what this means, if anything, and simply follows the general script he was given prior to the ceremony.

"I await my task, so I may join the Pack," he says, taking a knee.

The blond Alpha blinks his eyes and glances around, "In the morning you will be given your task. For now, you are conditionally accepted. Welcome to the Pack."

Richard waits for the Pack Alpha to turn away and Noel to motion him up and to his side. They walk back to where their Clan is gathered, now pulling out food and drink they had brought with them.

"What was that about?" Noel asks in a near snarl once they are among the other cats.

"I don't understand, sir," Richard says, honestly puzzled. "You wanted him subdued, so I subdued him."

"Not that, the fire," he says, turning to him with an angry expression and a flash of amber in his eyes. "Why the show?"

"What show?" he asks, confused. "I was focused on pushing the pain away. What happened?"

"You held it in there for over a minute," Tasha says from beside him, she had been sitting in the front row. "No one has ever held it for more than twenty or so."

"I didn't know," Richard says, glancing from her back to Noel. "I didn't mean to offend, or anything bad."

Noel clenches his jaw and growls deep as he looks to the side, "You know nothing of politics, do you?"

"Very little, sir. I've always been a soldier, a Merc," he admits.

"The rules here are deeper than that," Noel says looking at him with an angry expression. "You just showed everyone in the entire Pack that you are a badass. There are a lot of shifters out in that crowd that would love to take a shot and knock you down a peg, which would increase their own rep. Understand?"

Richard frowns and nods, not realizing his display, "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"You'll be dealing with it mostly, but it will become Clan and Pack business in short order. Watch your back and follow the rules, don't start the fights unless you must," Noel orders firmly.

"Yes, sir," he says with a nod, and Noel walks away, leaving Richard with Tasha.

"By the way, that was impressive," Tasha says as they turn away to where she is sitting.

"I was freaked out," he admits with a shake of his head, absently shaking his burnt hand and forearm. "I thought the tiger was going to claw his way out."

"I meant the fight," she says with a shake of her head. "Most of shifters don't fight that smart. And I almost didn't catch how you did that switch mid-air."

"I wouldn't have been able to pull it off as a human, but with my faster reflexes, I'm just lucky the timing worked out, if he'd been going faster or slower, it wouldn't have worked as well," he admits.

"Well, have a seat, I brought chicken," she says, gesturing to the small clear area in the grass big enough for them to sit with others a few feet away to other sides.

He sits and accepts a piece of chicken from the bucket she had brought with her. He sits and enjoys the food and company, and suddenly a sense of sadness passes over him, and he takes a deep breath to settle himself.

"What's wrong?" Tasha asks, chewing on a drumstick.

"I just realized, I'm home," he says, turning to her as he pulls out a big chunk of white meat from the breast. "I left home long ago, my folks died and I broke contact with my siblings. I've been a loner since."

"Until now," she says with a nod.

He nods in return but pauses as she turns away, and he glances at her clothing and form, brown sweatpants and sports bra. Then he realizes he is eating food she had offered him, not from the Clan or the Pack, she had offered it to him. He pauses in thought, mentally retracing the last few days, studying and talking with her, and is not scared of the thought, though definitely nervous.

"Now what?" she asks with an arched eyebrow, tossing the bone into the bag and grabbing another piece of meat.

"Just…" he shakes his head and sighs, "Is this what I think it is?" he asks, gesturing at the food and her.

"I like you, Richard," she says with a half-smile. "I think we could have a good time, if you're interested."

Richard smirks, then nods, "I am definitely interested."

"Good," Tasha says, shifting over and leaning into him.

Richard tries not to growl as he glares at his horse in the stables in the Merc Guild. He has owned this horse for two years, ridden into battle, and dragged corpses across town to collect bounties. And now the beast cannot stand the smell of him. He turns away from the stall and the nearly panicking horse and returns to the stablemaster.

"Know anyone who would be interested in buying a good warhorse?" he asks the short bald white man behind the counter.

"Not off hand, but some folks were looking at him while you were laid up, and didn't look to make it," the man says.

"Put out the word, he's for sale," Richard says, and the man makes a note in his log.

Richard leaves the stables and heads to the east side of the building, his next stop now that he is back on the active roster for the Guild. He is going to keep using guns, but he needs to swap out his old bow for a new one with a higher draw on it. He has the strength now, he might as well use it, and composite recurve bows work in either tech or magic waves.

He has nearly entered the door for the low tech armory when he hears his name shouted at the far end of the long hall, leading to the front door, and he turns to the sound. He immediately recognizes Chief Ranger Roberts in his cowboy hat striding down the hall towards him. Richard turns and walks to the old Ranger.

"Rick, damn you are a good sight to see," Roberts says with a smile and a shake of his head, taking the younger man's hand a in a solid grip. "Was wondering when you'd get out. How did things go with the Pack?"

"Well enough, can't talk about the details, sir, you understand," he says with a nod and smile.

"Yeah, I get it," the Chief Ranger says, nodding somberly and tilting his hat up a bit on his head. "I'm glad I ran into you while I was here, you might be interested in a job that we're looking to outsource."

"What's the mark?" he asks, serious.

"Same fella that put you in the hospital, matter of fact," Roberts says with a serious frown. "We been trying to track him down, as he got off the ship, but couldn't get out of the city. We think he's in a neighborhood on the northeast side of town, but can't narrow it down more than that."

"Do you have his scent?" Richard asks.

"Dogs won't track him, something mixed in that scares them off," Roberts says with a shake of his head, then looks at Richard uneasily. "A shifter could probably track him…"

"But Rangers don't hire many shapeshifters, unless it's a heavy takedown," Richard says with a knowing nod, then quirks an eyebrow. "How about we go down to the station and I'll catch up with the other guys that were on the mission, just to talk."

"Just to talk," Roberts says with a slight twinkle in his eye, and they walk out of the Guild together.

Richard walks down the street in the northeast of Houston, wearing a cloak and a short brimmed cowboy hat. The Chief Ranger had never taken Richard off the rolls as a Deputy Ranger, and although Richard has no intention of being a full time Ranger, they had discussed and worked out that he would be a part-time, on call Ranger for special cases. The Chief Ranger had chafed on the conditions Richard had placed on him, because of his membership in the Pack, but had relented.

So now Richard is searching for a scent, the rain pouring down hard, and having been capable of tracking someone by scent for about a week, though never actually trained in it. It is with these thoughts in his head that he pauses in step, a familiar scent hitting his nose. He breathes it in slowly and he recognizes it from the scent of the man they are chasing, not the man's scent, but an aspect of it, an animal scent that compliments the man's.

Richard turns down the alley nearby towards the smell, and is soon in front of a small Chinese restaurant hidden in the basement of a building in the alley. The sign is in Chinese, so he cannot read it, but he can smell the food plainly, so he steps down the three steps to the door and enters.

He moves carefully to a table at the side of the small, and nearly deserted main room, scanning its occupants as he does. After a few moments, a young Chinese woman approaches him and asks him what he would like to drink.

"I am looking for this man," Richard says directly with a photo out, focusing on her reaction.

She blinks and startles, and shakes her head, backing away quickly. Richard does not push, because he notes that a pair of men in the back have taken notice of him and the waitress' reaction. He stands and walks to the two Chinese men.

"I am looking for this man," he says, setting down the picture of a Chinese man with a white streak in his hair.

"You do not belong here," one man says, deliberately lighting a cigarette.

"You should go away," the other man says, parting his jacket to show the cord wrapped handle of a wikisashi.

"You should tell me where he is," Richard says instead, letting a growl touch his voice.

The two men pause and look at him with only their eyes, realizing he is a shapeshifter. They look to each other, then the second one stands in a flash while drawing his sword. Richard grabs the man's hand, keeping the sword in the scabbard, and punches him in the neck, hard. He adjusts his right hand to grip the man's sword and draws it as he spins to the other man, who has backed up and drawn a narrow Tai Chi sword.

"Just tell me where he is, and no one has to get hurt," Richard says, growling the words out.

"What are you? Wolf?" the man demands angrily, attacking.

Richard backs up as the man attacks, then slashes hard at an attack and knocks the blade from the man's hand. He continues the lunge and grabs the man by the throat with his left hand, picking him off the ground.

"I am Tiger," he says, and his sight flashes red for a moment, his shapeshifter magic flaring for a moment.

"Put him down," a man's voice says from the end of the room, and Richard turns his head without dropping the man.

The man with the white streak of hair is there, two others at his sides, both stocky and wide with thick heavy swords in hand. Richard tosses the man to the side, squaring off on the men and switching the short curved sword to his left hand.

"By the power given to me by the State of Texas, you are under arrest," Richard says simply, his eyes looking around the room for other enemies that may emerge.

The man laughs, he is in his fifties, lean and long lank black hair to his shoulder blades. He wears white slacks, a red shirt and black jacket while leaning on a cane. He waves around at the empty restaurant.

"You are in my den, fool, you are mine," he says with a snigger. "The magic is up, your guns won't work, and you may be a shapeshifter, but I have my tricks as well."

He gestures to the two men with him, who both say a phrase in unison, then their skins turn a dark, iron color, and Richard re-assesses his situation.

"What breed did you say you are?" the man asks, squinting at Richard, then jerking his head back in recognition. "You are the one from the tape. The one who killed my beasts."

"Yes," Richard says, dropping his hat to the side, and his cloak as well, revealing his leather and Kevlar jacket and armor, as well as the katana on his side and various other blades on his person.

The man Richard had knocked aside earlier says something in Chinese, and the older man quirks his head to the side.

"You survived the attack, and turned," he says with a surprised expression. "You are now Tiger?"

"I am," Richard says, then switches the sword to his right hand and throws it like a spear at the man.

The man ducks to the side, falling more than dodging, and the blade cuts through his upper arm. Richard has already dismissed him from his immediate thoughts, as he has drawn his katana and parries the attack of one of the iron men's heavy swords, then steps to the side and slices hard across the back of one of the men's legs.

The man jinks from the heavy blow, but recovers quickly and continues as though uninjured. Richard parries and dodges, then thrusts as hard as he can into the chest of one of the men. His blade bites six inches in then stops, and he cannot pull it out. He releases the handle and rolls backward, avoiding a deadly blow from the other iron man, but still losing a chunk of meat from his shoulder as he twists.

He rights himself and draws a throwing knife, aiming for the man's face. The man flinches as the blade clangs off of his iron nose, and when he looks back, the door to the restaurant is open and Richard is gone.

"Now I know how my exes felt," Tasha says as she looks at Richard's healing shoulder in his bathroom.

"Sorry to bring you into this," he apologizes.

"Don't be, this is what being Pack is about," she says, pouring water over the shoulder as he sits in the bathtub, so as to not bloody up his apartment. "I've done time on the other end of this. We'll see how you handle it, though, when I come home or ask for help patching up."

"I shall endeavor to be patient and caring," Richard says with a smile. "I have a question, and I hope it's not offensive."

"Go on," she says, pouring water over the chunk of meat that is growing back fast enough for her to see the muscle reform.

"It's about how the Clan works, and… us," he glances over the shoulder with the last. "I don't want to misstep, and— "

"We generally date and the rest like humans, though our personal dispositions are usually inclined towards our animal," she says with a smirk. "Boudas are matriarchal, and are generally minxes in bed, as well as fairly polygamous until they find their mate, which they take for life."

"And lions?" he asks, looking at her, his real question, as that is what she is.

"A pride normally has one male lion and a number of females in the wild," she says. "In the Were community, lion males don't tend to last long, as they are often easy to temper and don't mix well with other species. The males are usually drifters or the head of a Pride, only one or two others with a half dozen or so females, not all mates."

"And the females?" he asks, tilting his head.

"We stay together, my roommates are all were-lions," she says.

Richard blinks as he thinks of the six other women she lives with in a rented house on the west side of town.

"Is there sharing?" he asks, forcing non-chalant but fighting a small laugh.

She smacks him on the head with the plastic pitcher, "Behave."

"Sorry, natural guy reaction," he says with a chuckle. "So do I have to worry about their approval?"

"Down the road, yes," she says with a scowl. "I am not the Alpha of our small Pride."

"What does that mean?" he asks, wondering whose approval he will have to fight for.

"We still have a female alpha, like other Packs, Clans and Prides," Tasha explains. "I am not alpha of our Pride. When and if we get serious, you will have to interview with Nita, our alpha."

"Have I met her?" he asks, furrowing his brow in thought, mentally ready to fight for Tasha.

"No," she says, scowling slightly.

He catches the tone, "What's wrong?"

She scowls fully, "I don't want to talk about it."

Richard frowns and thinks carefully before speaking, never certain when talking with her, "Tasha, I know we're not… I don't know what we are, besides sponsor and new guy, and a pair of dates, I think. But as a friend, can I give some insight?"

"New guy insight?" she teases with a skeptical look. "No offense, you may not have the appropriate perspective yet on how our society looks."

"People are animals," Richard says, looking over his shoulder at her. "We are not that different, I mean they are not that different, from us."

"So, what's the insight?" she asks, rising an eyebrow and thawing as she settles off to the side of the tub to let him see her fully.

Richard swallows on a mouth gone dry, her eyes captivating him, as always. "Trust yourself, and if I am the one meeting her and getting interviewed, trust me," he says with a small, shy smile.

She leans on the edge of the tub, raising both brows as she looks into his eyes in turn, "I trust you."

Richard leans forward and kisses her, tentatively, and as he pulls back, she grabs his head with both hands, holding her cheek to his as she breathes deep through her nose, smelling him deeply. She growls as she runs her nails and fingers through his hair, and he firmly grasps her ribs and pulls her closer. The water sloshes in the tub as she kneels in the tub with him, her jeans and t-shirt getting soaked as she runs her hands up his body.

Richard grabs the front of her V neck t-shirt and rips it in two, revealing a skimpy bra beneath. She is working on his pants, and she pulls his fly open roughly, tearing the zipper from the cloth. She pushes his pants and underwear down his hips. He has unclasped her bra and pulls her mouth up to his, kissing her roughly and eagerly.

Richard turns his head as he lies on the carpet in his bedroom, sprawled out with Tasha half on top of him, a leg and arm draped over him possessively. He leans down and kisses her on the top of her head. She moves her head and kisses him back.

"That escalated quickly," he says softly with a smile.

"I'm not complaining," she says with a wicked grin. "I'm up for another round if you are."

"Give me time to recharge," he says with a chuckle.

"Okay," she says with a deep breath, snuggling into his chest again. "Five minutes."

He smiles, and holds her close, and after a few moments, he asks, "What does this make us?"

Tasha shakes her head slightly, "I don't know what to call it. But right now, you're mine."

"I think I can handle that," he says with a smirk of his own.

Richard walks into the front room of the commercial building on the south end of town. He is incredibly busy now, working the case with the Rangers, learning the details of Pack law, buying the piece of land out on the west end, and then the task from the Clan and Pack. He'd hoped it would be a fight, or a contract like with the Guild, instead it's more complicated than that.

"Mr. Michaels?" the young man sitting at the front desk in the room asks, and he looks vaguely familiar, he scent certainly does.

"That's me," Richard says, his mind dredging up the younger man's face.

"My name is Alex, you probably don't remember me, I was the man Danny was shoving around the night you challenged him," the younger man says, nodding respectfully at him.

"I thought you looked familiar," Richard says with a nod, extending his hand. "How are things?"

"Better," he says with a shrug as he timidly takes the offered hand. "I am a Lynx, and am pending acceptance to the Wolf Clan."

"Well, good luck," Richard replies, unsure what else is appropriate. "You work here?"

"Yes," he says with a smile, now waving at the logo on the wall behind him, a simple wooden sign for the company, Hoffman Resources. "Hoffman Resources was started by my father, twenty years ago. Started as a middle man company for shipping and freight, and five years ago, we had our fingers in a most major industries and corners of the city, even doing investing and management outsourcing."

Richard nods in appreciation, sounded like a solid company, "And five years ago?"

"My father died," Alex says, his cheer fading, "Danny killed him in a challenge for Clan leadership. We've fallen hard since then. Danny sucked up a lot of our money and assets, shifting it into the Clan's control under his family."

"They don't strike me as the business type," Richard says with a frown as Alex leads him to the back of the building.

"Horrible at it," Alex sighs, running a hand through his hair. "The only reason we still exist is that my father put in a clause in his death insurances that kept me as the majority shareholder until I came of age, and my proxy was managed by a board Danny couldn't touch."

"Still a lot of influence Danny could push, though, I imagine," he replies, nodding in understanding.

"Yes, very much, both directly and through intimidation of the board," Alex says, showing Richard into an old board room, boxes of paperwork sitting in stacks on the walls and on the table large enough to seat ten. "This is all the bank statements and transaction paperwork I'm backlogged on to get current. Two years' worth, and what I know for sure is not good."

Richard sighs and crosses his arms as he thinks over the issues and the room's contents. The Clan and Pack had placed him in charge of the company, as both punishment and a test. He took down Danny and he should be a Clan Cat Alpha, but there's no Clan Cat. Noel thinks he can help get the Pack established and organized, both militarily and financially. Danny's legacy destroyed a lot of lives and businesses in Clan Cat, and being Alpha, he would be in charge of fixing it normally. This is a partial compromise.

Noel owned a good chunk of the remaining stock of Hoffman Resources, and influenced the remainder to let Richard run it as CEO, which though awesome as it sounds, in practice is little more than a managerial position. Noel has some other plans up his sleeve, Richard is sure, and wonders when that shoe is going to drop. But first thing is first.

"I need to see what our current bank account is at," he says after only a few moments of thought as he steps up to the head of the table and takes off his cloak, tossing it over a chair. "I am going to start looking in these boxes for abstracts and get to sorting in a way I understand. I want what you know on paper, either a spreadsheet or checkbook style columns, I don't care. Something a guy taking a class on simple math would understand."

"Yes, sir," Alex says, writing in a notebook.

"Do we have any other employees besides you and me?" he asks, taking a lid off a box and looking at the top sheet which describes the contents of the box, someone did some organizing already, good.

"Here in the main office, five," he replies immediately. "Three during the day, you, me and another pack member who works after his morning college classes, Tad Moore. He'll be here around two this afternoon. We have a guard who was a friend of Danny's who worked nights but didn't show most of the time, and a clerk/cleaning lady that works weekends. In the businesses we manage and own, hundreds."

"We'll start with our own house before we work on the outliers. I'll meet Tad when he gets in," Richard says, on his third box. "I need the guard to come in for an interview to keep his job. Call him and schedule it on my behalf. Same for the clerk. Sooner for both rather than later. I don't have time for bullshit, I'll fire them and hire new people if I get any gruff or push. Understand?"

"Uh, yes, sir," Alex says, unsure suddenly.

"Alex, if you have a question or reservation, now would be the time to say something," Richard says, pausing from his perusal of an abstract of a quarterly report to look at him. "We just met and understanding each other so we can work well together is important, especially as this was your family's business, and I assume you want it to do well again."

Alex blinks, then nods, pushing his shoulder length brown hair behind an ear, "You're different, is all. I haven't really dealt with anyone like this, like you, since my father died."

Richard takes a breath and studies the young man for a long moment, late teens, maybe twenty, "How old are you?"

"Nineteen," he says with a nod.

"High school grad? And if so, are you in college?" Richard asks.

"Yes, and no, I don't have time, working here," Alex says with a shrug.

"That will change," Richard says. "As of right now, if you accept, you're my protégé when it comes to the business. That means you need to look and act the part, as well as start getting your foundation set. Do you understand what that means?"

Alex blinks, unsure, then glances at his clothes, jeans and a t-shirt.

"If you don't know that's okay," Richard says with a smile to ease the statement, his face softening. "You've been treated badly and done the best you could, no shame in that. But now I'm here, and things will change. For the better, I think."

"Okay," Alex says, running a hand self-consciously through his hair now.

"Starting tomorrow, dress and act for the job you want to have, not the job you currently have," Richard says as he shift to the next box. "Now, you're essentially an intern. But your name, your father's name, is on the sign. That means you should want the job he had and the job he meant you to have, which is running this company. Do you agree?"

"Yes, mom talks about it all the time," Alex agrees, nodding. Richard files away the info on the mother for later.

"Think of how your father used to dress, how he used to act and behave," Richard says, pulling out another abstract. "Start doing that, but tomorrow. For now, get those things I asked for. Okay?"

"Yes, sir," Alex says, nodding with a firm tone now, and striding off with purpose.

Richard sighs slightly as he realizes the hurtles ahead, but pushes them aside to focus on the current issues.

Richard tests the draw of a compound bow at the Mercenary Guild armory. The pull is nearly two hundred pounds, and the hold weight is only a fraction of that. The bow is high end, and more than he would usually go for, but with his now increased strength, it seems a shame to waste it. On the other hand, the pulley system has a tendency to fail when the magic is up.

He places the bow back on the rack with the others and walks down the aisle to the composite recurve bows. He is looking at the bows on display, and turns as he hears another person approach and stop behind him. He pauses when he realizes that the person does not move on, and he turns as he breathes in the scent of them. A female, dry and musky, a tint of riverland.

"You are from Tasha's Pride, right?" he asks, facing the stout woman who is standing a few paces away, her short black hair framing her head.

"And you are Richard, right?" the woman asks, her Hispanic accent thick, her full and heavy figure cocked with attitude.

"Yes," he says with a polite bow of his head. "And you are?"

"My name is Nita, I saw you when you were inducted into the Clan," she says, pursing her lips in displeasure as she looks Richard over. "I still ain't impressed."

"Excuse me?" he says, tilting his head at her. "What does that mean?"

"Your show impressed some, but not me," she says with a sarcastic attitude, bobbing her head side to side. "I don't see what the hype is about, you're just some white boy to me."

"That's pretty racist, isn't it?" he asks, turning his back on her and looking over the bows again.

"It's the truth, is what it is," she says with a frown. "And you can't see Tasha again, that's a fact."

Richard pauses with his hand over a bow, turning slowly towards her, "What did you say?"

"I am the Alpha of our Pride," she says, eyebrows raised and drawing out the last word. "I say no."

"Say yes, or we will have problems," Richard says calmly, facing her fully.

"No," she says, frowning at him with a slow shake of her head.

Richard sighs, then reaches out in a flash and picks her off the ground one handed by the throat. He lifts her off the ground and she kicks at him as he pulls her closer, grabbing the tuft of hair at the back of her head, causing her to still as the pressure of the taut hair causes pain.

"Listen closely, little cat," Richard growls low, holding her close, but her feet just over the ground. "Tasha makes her own decisions, as do I. Do not meddle. Understand?"

"I am Alpha, not Tasha," she says, her feet slowly kicking in the air, as she stares at Richard.

"Do you challenge me?" he growls, his brows knitting together. "I may not be your Pride, but I am of the Clan, and rank higher than you."

She growls side to side, and Richard sniffs her as she does, then drops her abruptly. She lands in a crouch, looking up at him as she growls, then stalks away.

Richard turns back to the bows and pulls one off the rack to test the pull, his mind elsewhere.

Richard is sitting at his desk in his apartment, reading through the paper files the Texas Rangers have given him on the smuggling operation. He had tracked the guy down by smell before, and with the info on the restaurant front, the Rangers have managed to compile more background info, and he is combing it now to find the connection.

His front door opens and he rises to his feet, having been reading for a couple hours now. He enters the sitting room as Tasha does, and he pauses as he registers the angry look on her face.

"What's wrong?" he asks, unsure if there is a protocol for this in the sub-culture and relationship.

"Nita is what's wrong," she says, scowling at him. "She got roughed up today."

"She came to the Merc Guild house, told me no, and I said yes," Richard says simply, shrugging. "I pulled rank on her, threatened her a bit."

"You don't have the right to control my Pride, Richard," Tasha says, nearly growling at him. "It is _my_ Pride, not yours."

"I wasn't trying to control your Pride, I was trying to give you control of yourself," he says with an exasperated sigh.

"I can control myself just fine," she nearly shouts at him. "I don't need you pushing me around, controlling me or mine."

Richard growls in frustration, "Fine, I won't. But…" He snarls at the air, shaking his head and stalking back and forth. "You don't want me to fight, I won't fight. Go."

Tasha blinks, shaking her head, "What?"

"You want nothing to do with me, then go," he says, waving at the door, just venting, not thinking it through. "If I have a question about shapeshifters, I'll call."

Tasha blinks in surprise, then scowls at him, "Fine!"

Richard watches as she storms out, then shakes his head and sits down in his sofa, confused.

Richard walks into the flea market warehouse, pausing as he enters to allow his eyes to adjust. This is the bad part of town, a known blackmarket, and currently his only lead on the man whom he had tracked down yesterday. The man did business here on occasion, and given the current circumstances, he likely has a contact here keeping an ear open for prospective clients, even though he currently has no wares.

Richard is anxious, as he knows that shapeshifter body parts fetch a huge sum on the black market, as they are key ingredients to major spells. The rarer the breed and body part, the more expensive it is. He is smart enough to know that he is a walking platinum mine to those here, if they find out who and what he is.

He strides down the main aisle, casually smelling the stalls for the scent he is looking for, though doubting he will find it. What he is really looking for is a shop with shapeshifter body parts, that is where he will find the information he needs. He stops in front of a tent erected in the warehouse, noting the glass jar in front with a heart in it, something written on an index card beside it, the character either Japanese or Chinese, or something related.

He enters the tent, his mid-thigh length leather jacket pushed to the side revealing his 1911 .45 on his thigh for a clear draw, as the tech is up. Inside is dim, lit with only a few candles and heavily doused with incense, making his nose useless, and he fights not to sneeze. After a few moments, he sneezes anyway, unable to fight the urge, and his eyes watering a bit as well.

"Bless you," a soft voice says from the far side of the tent, a small, old man sitting in a folding chair and with an accented tone. "The incense bothers some. May I help you find anything?"

"I am looking for information," Richard says, walking to the small card table the man sits next to, jars and bags on it, filled with various items, fur, feathers and claws chief among them.

"I have that, in abundance," the man says, tilting his head, staring intently at Richard. "But it will cost you with coin of the same."

Richard nods, "I understand, I can give you info about the Merc Guild, and some on the Rangers."

"No, I require information about you," the old man says, still staring intently at him, focusing on his eyes.

Richard frowns, "My question first. I am looking for a man called Chen, former Triad member, currently supplies shapeshifter parts. He was nearly busted a couple weeks ago. Where is he?"

"This information I have," the old man acknowledges with a nod, waving at the items in the tent. "He provided much of what you see here. But you must answer my question first, as to answer yours will greatly hinder my business. What breed of shapeshifter are you?"

After a pause, he responds, "Cat."

"The man you seek is in the city," the man says, shrugging. "Specificity on your part, gets you the same from me."

A flap in the tent to the rear opens, and a trio of men enter, as well as a woman, all dressed in stereotypical Asian garb, two of the men with AK47s, the others with long blades. Richard squares off on the men, but has not yet drawn his pistol, the AKs not raised, but slung over shoulders and the blades in sheathes.

"I am a tiger," Richard says softly, his eyes unfocusing as he tracks the newcomers as they spread out towards him, now ten yards away.

"He is downtown, hiding in a local club," the old man says, standing. "What color and do you use magic? The answer will give you the name of the club."

"Just a tiger, and no," Richard says, edging backwards slightly.

"The Industry, and Fifteenth and Main," the old man says, walking past the armed men and woman closing on Richard. "You will sell for much."

Richard draws his gun and fires on the two with AKs, hitting each twice in the chest. They go down, but continue to pull their guns to the fore, they must be wearing armor. Richard places a single round in the face of one, but does not have time to finish off the other, as the remainder are on him with blades out. He ducks one attack and shoots the woman in the knee, to which she shrieks in pain. He fires his last two rounds in the other man's chest, and follows up with a kick to his jaw.

He holsters the gun and picks up the man's discarded sword, a straight bladed tai chi sword. He leaps and lands on the man he had shot before and buries the sword in the man's shoulder as he fires at him. Richard stumbles back from the rounds hitting his own Kevlar vest, but the man is screaming and clutching his bleeding shoulder, the AK discarded.

Richard hurries out of the tent and runs out of the warehouse, hoping to beat the area's security gang before they respond to the shots fired.

Tasha frowns at the mug of tea in front of her, thinking deep thoughts. Her head is on Richard, not on much else, and she's not sure if that is good or bad. Relationships suck. She's pulled from her thoughts by her phone ringing, she looks at the display, the tech is up, and sees that it is an unlisted number.

"Hello?" she answers, putting the house phone to her ear.

"It's Richard," comes the familiar voice, and Tasha is angry now, not half swooning as she had been a few minutes ago.

"I'm not talking to you," she says in a growl, then pulls the phone from her ear to hang up.

"I have work for you," he says loudly before she can disconnect, and she stares at the receiver for a pair of breaths before placing it back to her ear.

"I am listening, but not promising anything," she says with a sigh and a lot of patience.

"I found the man who ran the shifting ring, and I need magic backup," he says simply. "The Rangers are backing me up, but you're better than they are, and a shapeshifter besides. I can hire you as an accessory backup with two special skills."

Tasha does the mental math, then nods to herself, as that would handle bills for nearly a month, and that's if she ate out every day, and not cook in house. Business is business.

"I'm in, when and where?"

Richard looks at the front of the nightclub building, his hand resting on the hilt of the katana on his hip. It is unenchanted and standard steel, though manufactured during the tech, reliable and strong. He has knives on his person, and a short sword as well, though all are sheathed, and he has the recurve bow hung on his shoulder, a quiver over his shoulder on his back.

He opens the back of the panel van he is sitting in and walks out onto the street. He readies the bow with an arrow on the string, striding confidently to the front door as his eyes remain unfocused. The two guards there reach for their blades on their hips, but stop as other Rangers emerge from the van and point bows at them as well. Richard stays in the lead, and Tasha is just behind him, a messenger bag slung over a shoulder with her ingredients for spells.

Richard blows past the two guards and into the club, it nearly deserted as it is past last call and they started pushing people out nearly a half hour ago. Richard scans the crowd and fires his bow across the room at a man with a bow on a catwalk in the rafters near the ceiling. The man cries out and falls to the ground, and soon the diminished crowd is yelling and rushing for the exits.

Richard ignores them as he goes to the basement stairs, uniformed cops surrounding the building and sorting it out now. A pair of guards rush out of the stair entrance, and he places an arrow in each, then another pair in each, as they are wearing armor, and they did not pierce fully. He enters the stairs and hurries to the basement, where a penthouse is at, and Chen's likely hiding hole.

He enters the basement, but finds a dungeon instead, complete with wet stone walls, dank smells, and the stench of meat and blood.

"This is unexpected," Richard says calmly, aiming down the corridor, torches on the walls and doors lining the corridor.

"Give me thirty seconds, I'll seal the doors," Tasha says in a whisper, lowering to a kneeling position to cast her spell.

Three doors down one of the oak doors open, and a werewolf, in hybrid warrior form, emerges, growling. Richard puts a pair of arrows in it, and it howls, so he puts two more in it, though it does not die from the arrows. Richard drops the bow and draws his katana, stepping forward to the larger monster. He cuts down at the wolf's disjointed knees, and cuts deeply through one. He kicks the falling torso, sending it sprawling backwards, and the monster growls and howls in pain, as the arrows are still in its chest and its crippled leg sink in.

Richard continues down the hall, stepping over the dying creature, but stops when the far door is flung open. Richard pauses and raises his sword overhead in a two handed grip as he faces off with a snake/man hybrid, what looks like a King Cobra with a man sized torso and hood. The warrior king snake's tongue flicks out, tasting the air, and Richard holds his position as the snake's long body and tail coil behind it.

He lowers his sword to the side and down, his mind focused as he watches his opponent. Tasha finishes the spell, and the doors all slam shut in unison, locked closed. The sound does nothing to the snake, though Richard blinks at the sudden sound and vibration. The snake pounces as he blinks, and Richard ducks backward, cutting up and across as the man cobra strikes.

The shapeshifting snake swerves at the last moment, Richard's blade only cutting into the creature's lower jaw. The cobra recoils, blood spraying from its chin as it rears back again. Richard rolls to the side and is up again, but now advances. He strikes across and diagonally, slashing across the creature's lower body and tail, then up against the man-like chest.

The creature recoils back violently, smashing against the rock wall, sending chips everywhere. Richard follows through, impaling the snake with his sword, jamming the sword into the stone, he thrusts with such force. The blade sticks in the rock, and he pauses before releasing the handle and turning back to the corridor at large.

"There are no snake shapeshifters," Tasha says quietly from where she has long knife drawn before her. "A witch I think."

"Where is Chen?" Richard asks, pulling his short sword from his back, a Hoplite sword.

"Far door," Tasha says, reaching into her bag. "Say the word, and I'll open it."

Richard creeps to the door, pausing to the side, Tasha to the opposite side, then nods to her. She fishes into the bag at her side, pulling out a small handful of dust, then blowing it on the door. The door pops open an inch, and Richard throws the door open, poising to strike with his sword. Chen is there, with a book before him, made of bamboo strips, and he is chanting under his breath.

Richard draws and throws a knife, but the blade skips to the side, deflected by a ward around him. Richard scans the room, but sees no others, and Tasha enters and digs into her bag to start working against his ward. Richard settles to a crouch between Chen and Tasha.

"What is he casting?" he asks, unsure what Chen is doing exactly.

"A summoning spell," Tasha says, looking carefully at a pouch of herbs, measuring out some into a ceramic bowl. "He's pulling a demon of some sort into our reality."

"A demon," Richard says with a swallow. "He's conjuring a demon. A demon. How do I fight a demon?"

"Depends on the demon," Tasha says anxiously. "But he's Chinese, and Chinese demons are odd things, everyone is different, and some are unique."

"Any things for certain?" he asks, absently touching the handles of his blades.

"Teeth and claws will hurt it," she says, frowning tensely, the both of them knowing he can't shift except into full tiger, and his control isn't good yet in that form for fighting. "And enchanted weapons."

"I don't have anything enchanted," Richard says, his eyes never leaving Chen. "You?"

"No weapons," she says with a gulp as she quickly grounds the herbs together in the bowl.

"Can they die with massive damage, like shifters?" he asks.

"No, they ignore normal damage," she says, finishing grounding the herbs, then pulling her necklace off roughly and tossing it at Richard's feet. "There is a claw on there from when I shifted, and I kept it for a charm."

"Thank you," Richard says softly, glancing around the room absently.

He pulls a throwing knife from his jacket, placing it on the table nearby. He hammers it with his fist, bending the blade, then it snaps off. He takes the handle that remains and places the claw alongside, placing the claw alongside it. He wraps 550 cord around it, his eyes on Chen the entire time.

"Tasha, thank you," he says in a quiet voice.

She pauses as she is writing glyphs on the floor with a sharpie marker, "Thank me if we live."

Richard tightens the cord on the handle and claw, the crude dagger in his hand as he studies Chen and the glowing circle in front of him. After a few long breathes Chen opens his eyes, which are now glowing a pale green. He finishes his chant, and an insectile limb emerges from the circle, pulling a tarantula type body behind, but with a stinger hovering above it.

"How do shifters handle poison and venom?" he asks, testing the claw bladed knife.

"Poison isn't as bad, but paralytics will kill, if slower than a human," she says, finishing laying out her ingredients. "Quiet now, I need to concentrate."

"Hurry, I need to get on it before it is fully emerged, or it will be much harder," he says, wrapping a leather scarf around his neck for added protection. "Chen is yours, though, I will be too busy with the demon."

"With pleasure," Tasha mutters under her breath, then begins a chant to cast her spell.

Richard is waiting, poised to strike, and after four long breaths, Tasha completes her spell, and he pounces forward as the ward protecting the nearly emerged demon and the wizard vanishes.

He twists as he launches himself, so the stinger that is already emerged and strikes at him is deflected as he spins in mid-air. He lands a bit awkwardly on the demon's back, the last of its legs emerging from the portal, and he rolls to the side, the stinger cracking down into its own carapace. The demon hisses through mandibles and fangs, spinning sideways to face Richard, who has regained his feet again.

The creature is over a foot thick in its body, the legs spiderlike with talons on the end, a spider's face with articulate fangs and mandibles, with the tail waving behind it. Richard pounces forward and to the side, before the demon has fully turned, apparently awkward in the new environment, different from its home realm. He strikes the joint of a leg with his talon knife, the demon screeches and moves to skitter sideways further, but Richard leaps after it.

He catches the tail with his left arm as he sails past it, wrapping his legs near the base and pulling the tail nearly to the ground under his weight. He stabs and cuts into a crease in the carapace of the tail, above his head, and twists as he cuts. The tail thrashes him side to side and he is slammed into walls, holding on for dear life as he continues to gash at the tail.

He strikes a solid table near the corner that dislodges him and he rolls to the side instinctively despite the pain in his side and hip from the blow. A taloned leg lands where he had been, then another and another, each missing him by a hairsbreadth. He manages to get a bent leg under him and lunge forward beneath the next attack, rolling sideways then stabbing up into the underbelly of the demon, wrenching the talon sideways.

The cord holding the talon in place snaps from the attack, and Richard lunges and rolls out from under the demon as it retreats the opposite direction. Richard draws his short sword as he regains his feet, facing the demon again. He pauses as the takes in the demon, assessing his opponent. The tail hangs limp to the side, purple blood leaking profusely down to its underbelly which is also bleeding from the attack, and it lists to the side as well from the injured leg.

Its eyes glow red and Richard realizes too late that though the demon is dying, it intends to take him with it. His late reaction is nearly enough, as he leaps up as high as he can without a proper stance, attempting to flip forward and skewering the demon below him. His strength is enough to get him up and to thrust down, piercing the carapace. As he scores his hit, so does the demon, its front right leg lancing out and thrusting into Richard's lower back deeply, pushing the fabric in the front into a point.

The claw rips out awkwardly as their different momentums tear them apart, and Richard lands roughly and unceremoniously on the ground, hard. He lies in his pooling blood, pain racking his body from the mortal wound. He is barely conscious, and the small part of his mind that is functioning forces his right arm to reach for his short sword lying nearby while his left holds the front puncture wound. The grips the blade with difficulty, shooting pain through his body as he rolls to all fours in an attempt to rise.

He gets no further than his stomach, however, and lies there as his vision begins to darken around the edges. He slowly feels the world fade away, the only operating part of his mind trying to hold onto the sword hilt, as though it were life itself, yet it slowly slips from his fingers.

He is jolted with pain and gasps as he is pulled onto his back, the flash of pain a stimulant to his mind, but still fogged by the pain that seems to be spreading from the wound. He can hear people talking, but cannot hear or understand. Vaguely, he begins to smell the savanna as his vision darkens again, then the smell of pine enters as well.

His darkening vision now has shapes in the shadows, approaching him as he falls into the dark. As they near, the smells become stronger, more intense, and the dark seems to hold him less and less. The dark engulfs him, but the two shadows remain, and a part of his mind that is man knows there is a lion and a wolf with him. He struggles to meet them, fighting clinging shadows that threaten to pull him down to oblivion as the two predators growl at the night.

"He's too far gone, darlin'," Davey says softly, his accent heavier. "The Pack canna' bring 'im back."

"He's not gone yet," she says, growling at him, her eyes closed and her mind focused. "I won't quit on him."

Richard struggles in fear against the clinging shadows as they pull him down, and panic fully grips him as the cold begins to seep into his being. The dark is suddenly pierced with an animal roar, and it opens a door within him, and answering roar erupting from his own being, and with it the rage of his beast. He roars at shadows, casting them off in anger, and bristles as he rages defiantly at the darkness.

The mist of rage passes and he shakes his head to clear it, finding himself standing on all fours in a room, breathing heavily. His stance is wide and he is bristling, ready for a fight, eager even, but as he breathes his eyes meet blue eyes and his control returns, the ruff of his neck easing slowly to normal. Tasha is kneeling in front of him, her hands on the ground as she breathes deeply herself, as though exhausted, and Davey is a few steps back, his sword drawn.

Richard glances around, taking in the room as a whole, the broken furniture, the dead demon, as well as Chen lying with his throat cut wide. He sighs deeply and sits, then lies down, placing his head next to Tasha. She sighs as well then lies down, resting her head on his neck.

Richard is exhausted. He is sitting in the offices of Hoffman Resources, reading through the summaries of the current company holdings. He fired the guard that did nothing, kept Tad on the books, and promoted the part time clerk/cleaning girl to full time. He's at the head of the conference room table, reading the last of the presentation those two with Alex had printed out for him to read, and they are sitting at the table waiting for him to finish.

"The debt isn't too bad, all things considered. The rates were good prior to Danny taking over, which is what will make it manageable," he says, setting down the sheet into the folder and pulling out a few sheets that sum up the overall distribution of monthly costs and revenues. "But we're not making money. Not anymore, and we're behind on payments."

"So what do we do now?" Alex asks, glancing at the others.

Alex has cut his hair short, styled and parted on the side, and has on a polo shirt with khakis and semi dress shoes. They aren't expensive, but he now looks like someone working in an office, rather than a college drop out. The others are dressed similarly, save Richard, who is in a green button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a nice pair of jeans with his cowboy boots. Being the boss does have perks, so his shirt is untucked and unbuttoned.

"We trim excess and get involved with the management of our assets to get the profits up," he says as he looks at the list of businesses. "Some I have experience with and can get into to make better. Once those are on their feet, I'll shift attention elsewhere. And we look at everyone's expenses and incomes closer. Everyone's."

"Where do you want us to start?" Alex asks, his pencil ready over his notepad, the others the same way.

"The auto shops and salvage, their books first," he says, making marks next to a few on the list. "I'll look the few specialty shops on the list to see what the deal is. I want to get into the investments, but I just don't know enough to deal with it. We're going to have to get someone from a firm to either look at it or recommend someone."

"Dad had some friends in a big firm in town, that's how we started getting into it," Alex offers, scribbling on his pad.

"Make an appointment for me, in the next week," Richard says with a nod. "I need to meet them before we trust them. You look into another person or two to help with the books, and a receptionist, part time afternoon. You guys will be too busy."

"Besides totaling numbers, we're not doing much right now," Tad comments, confused.

"Give it a week for the new management realization to hit, then calls and visitors will be coming in constantly, along with small fires and issues," Richard says with a shake of his head. "You all are familiar with the accounts, I'm learning and running it all. I will need more folks I can count on to delegate things to as we get more things we need to work on."

"Are we going to be okay?" Alex asks, looking up at Richard.

"Too early to tell," he says with a sigh. "Before I got here, this was a big animal dying slowly. I don't know if I can save it yet, and if I can, if I can get it to do more than just break even."

He nods to the group at that, then stands up, "I have work to do with the Guild still, and you all have some tasks to get after. We'll meet again tomorrow at nine and synch up."

"Yes, sir," they all chorus, then file out of the too large conference room.

Richard is threading twine into the sides of the reinforced leather vest he had just purchased at the Guildhouse that morning after his meeting at Hoffman's. As a shapeshifter, his clothing worn while shifting may be destroyed, and now that he can shift without the moon being full, the risk to expensive items is greater. Hence the twine lacing on the sides of the vest, and on the greaves he had purchased. The armor is light, flexible and tough, and though it has gaps, the twine means that it will fall off and not be torn apart if worn while shifting.

He looks up from his work just before a knock sounds from his door, hearing the soft footfalls out in his hallway. He goes to his door and pauses, catching Tasha's scent from the other side of the door. He opens it after a bare hesitation.

"Hey," he says, leaning on the door.

"Hey," she replies awkwardly. "Can I come in?"

Richard steps aside and gestures her in, closing the door behind them. He goes to the kitchen and returns with a pair of beers, handing one to her.

"Can we talk?" she asks.

"Talk," he says, sipping his beer and sitting on his sofa.

"You aren't making this easy," she says with a sigh, sitting on the nearby recliner.

"Last time I tried to make things easier, you yelled at me, and got really mad," he says with a raised eyebrow, staring at the label of his beer. "Not sure how else to act, now. And I still don't have the etiquette thing down, yet. I just realized I offered you a drink, which I don't even know if that means something or not."

Tasha smirks, looking at her beer, "Sometimes it does, sometimes not. I know you're just being normal polite."

He sighs, "Noel has me working for a company called Hoffman Resources, a parent company for some small businesses in the area. Management and advisement for the businesses, majority holder, it's technical and I'm figuring that out."

"I heard," she says with a nod. "I work part time as a mechanic at one of the body shops it's invested in. No one is sure yet if you're a good change or bad."

"Neither am I," he says with a sip of his beer. "I am not a businessman."

"But you are a leader, and you will try," she says with a smile, having finished a drink of her own beer. "That's more than Danny ever was."

"True enough," he says with a sigh. "I know that shapeshifters don't volunteer much info about the Pack or Clan. Getting Lyc-V changed that a bit, but it's still like pulling teeth. I'm not even sure if I'm allowed to talk to other Pack members what I figure out."

"You are, if they are in your Clan, and in what you would recognize as your chain of command," she says, using a term she knows he's familiar with.

"You're in mine, as my guide and sponsor," he says, nodding. "I've figured out that the Pack, though we have a lot of people, under a thousand but over five hundred, do not have a lot of money, though some of our members do, except for the Jackal-Bouda Clan."

"That's right, their Clan has businesses and is better organized in their businesses, they band together," she says with a nod.

"Heavy is trying, but I think, though I am not sure, that they just don't have the experience or knack for it," Richard says with a shake of his head. "The wolves are organized, but they do mostly Merc Guild work with bodyguarding and bounty work."

"That's pretty accurate," Tasha agrees.

"And though we're all allied, there's no phone trees or teams or training outside groups within the Clans, from what I can tell," he says with a frown and a moue. "If there was an attack against the shapeshifter community, we wouldn't be able to react very quickly or effectively against it, not like the People could."

Tasha sneers at the mention of the vampire controlling organization that is called the People, but she shakes her head in agreement, "We'd be able to get a couple dozen together, but it would be haphazard. Not like them or the Guild could throw together."

Richard sighs and takes a deep pull of his beer, then leans his head back. Life had been tough but simple a couple months ago. Now, though…

"Are you okay?" she asks from her seat, and Richard just shakes his head then opens his eyes and leans forward again.

"Just a lot happening all at once, it all," he admits. "I did okay in the Army, got out after the flare that tore up the country for a bit. Went into the Merc work and kept at it. Life was simple."

"And now it's not," she says with a nod.

"No," he says with a shake of his head. "I think about you, your eyes. Since that first time I saw you, your eyes…" he trails off, glancing at her.

"I feel it to," she says softly, nodding. "It's not your eyes, though. I can feel the pull of your magic, and your scent. That's what pulls me."

"Your eyes call to me, they calm me," he says, looking at his beer again.

"You aren't very good at this," she says with a smirk, taking a pull of her beer. "But then neither am I."

"Do you want to keep trying, to be together, I mean?" he asks, looking at her again.

"I see you and I think _mine_," she says in a near growl. "If Nita had come to me, we would have come to blows. I am mad because you took that fight away from me. That was my fight, not yours."

"She picked it with me," he says with a shrug. "Do I just walk away from someone who tells me not to do something? In my head, I am higher than her in the Clan and Pack. She does not tell me what to do."

"No, she doesn't, and she can't," Tasha acknowledges with a nod and a sigh, running a hand through her own hair. "She was wrong. I am just mad because I was blindsided by it later, and I live with her. And you don't realize this, but Prides are Matriarchal, so the females are in charge, not the males."

"Oh," Richard replies dumbly, mentally trying to grasp and restructure his thoughts on that. "And tigers are… solitary, aren't they?"

"Mostly," she says with a nod. "And when they bond or have families the male is larger, dominant, usually. The only tiger clans or groups are in Asia and India. They don't talk to the Americas much. I don't know of any other tigers in the US."

They sit in silence for a long moment before Richard speaks again.

"I'm moving, on Monday," he says. "Bought a patch of land west of the city. Going to build a house, probably a small garden, range and such. Even with the backstopping from the Law Enforcement, we got the bulk of the bounty on Chen. Pretty good split for us, and Davey for assisting."

"That's good," she says with a nod, understanding that much. "And with the work from Hoffman's you'll have more income, steadier, too."

"Don't know about that, yet," he says with a shake of his head. "Right now I'm working as a favor to the Clan and Pack, though Noel sweetened it by giving me a decent percentage of the company's stock. In a month or so, once we see how the books are I can get paid. Right now, not so much. I'll still be pulling jobs with the Guild and Rangers either way. It's what I know and am comfortable with."

"That will give you time to get used to shifting and your changed abilities, too," she says quietly, looking down at her beer again. "Rick, I want to be with you. I can tell you want to be with me. The way you look at me…" she shakes her head and exhales. "Do you need help moving?"

"Please," he says with a snort. "Not that there's anything to live in at the moment. I bought lumber, mortar and brick with money from the contract and got ahead on payments. I'm planning on getting a hold of Noel in the next day to talk about hiring the young shapeshifters in our Clan to help me build a structure this weekend. Pay will be poor, but I'm planning on roasting a few pigs as well."

"I'm in," Tasha says with a smile and finishing her beer.

"And us?" he asks, taking her empty bottle as he stands with his own empty.

She rises as she hands it to him, then steps into him, rubbing the stubble on his chin with her nose, then nipping at his jawline playfully, "What do you think?"

Richard lathers on some more barbeque sauce on the ox rotating over the open pit, using a wide paintbrush and a bucket of the sauce. When he'd suggested the weekend event to Noel, the older man had laughed, clapped him on the shoulder and simply said that the whole Clan would help. So now he has a couple hundred shapeshifters on his property, half of which are erecting his house, a simple log cabin with five first story rooms and a second story loft, and his barn. The other half are either cooking or helping to mark off a few corrals and do the initial tilling of a couple acres for farming.

Noel had helped him plan the layout for the property and has been floating between the projects. Richard has been doing the same, now on food. He finishes the layering of the sauce and hands the bucket with the brush off to the woman who had been working it before him. He walks away from the roasting beef to where the third A-frame of the barn is going up, Noel standing with a toothpick in his mouth watching.

"I don't like gifts, but I do appreciate the help," he says as he approaches the older man. "It would have taken a couple months and payments to get this done on my own."

"We take care of our own," Noel says with a shrug. "Besides, I'd like to put a loup cage in the barn, for emergencies if you don't mind."

"Not at all," Richard says with a nod, knowing it's a formality to ask, him being senior in the Pack and Clan. "I'll feel better with it, in case someone from the Pack stops in and needs help."

Noel smirks and works his toothpick around in his mouth, "You need to figure out our politics and the subtle meanings, but you're good people, Rick. I'm glad to have you."

"Glad to be here," he says, nodding and then shaking his head in memory. "Danny wasn't much of a leader."

"He was a bully," Noel says in a grunt, jerking his chin to where Danny and a few others are doing manual labor for the septic system, digging under the direction of a man in his twenties, a contractor in his day job. "But he has a warrior form, and was a quick fighter, ruthless, even if he was untrained."

"Hoffman's is in ruins," Richard says with a sigh. "I finished looking at the generalities this week. I can either cannibalize it for profit, or dig in and revamp the businesses. But I'll need capital to do it."

"Asking for money?" Noel asks, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"No," he shakes his head definitely. "Just laying out the options. One, we could sell, make a quick buck, quite a bit really. Two, we can keep reworking the management and crack down on the businesses we have and slowly slog out of debt and into the green. Or, final option, we drop the stock investments to pay off the delinquent debts, which will improve the credit ratings and give us a chance for rebuilding right with the businesses."

Noel moves the toothpick around and leads Richard away from the barn to where the coolers are and pulls out two bottles of beer, a good local micro brew. They keep walking in silence for a few moments towards the clearing fields. When they are a bit of a distance away, Noel asks Richard a question.

"Have you seen your animal form?" he asks, a non-sequitor considering their conversation prior.

"No," he says with a shake of his head. "I know from how I feel that I'm a great cat, and I am told I'm a tiger. I haven't seen a picture of myself or looked in the mirror while changed."

"You don't smell like a tiger should," Noel says as he reaches into his back pocket. "You smell not just of wet jungle, but of the savanna. Of rocky plains, forests and mountains. You have it all, not just part of it."

Richard furrows his brow in thought, "I don't understand."

He hands Richard a polaroid picture and continues, "You are five feet at the shoulder, and probably weigh well over a thousand pounds. I'd say you weigh as much as a full grown grizzly, but that's just a guess. And you are brown with black and gray for your stripes."

Richard blinks and tries to absorb that while looking at the polaroid picture. The picture is of him in animal form, as Noel had just described, taken just after the job that finished of Chen. He can see Tasha standing next to him for reference and the size is right, he's huge.

"Calling you a tiger is like calling a wolf a dog," Noel says with a smirk, shaking his head. "They are related, and look similar, but they are not the same. Your magic is odd, too. Old. I've never been overseas, so I don't know how old, but compared to local Indian shamans, your magic is older."

"I don't understand magic enough to know what that means," Richard admits, and they walk through the fields in the afternoon light towards one of the creeks, and the sound of kids playing and laughing.

"You have power, heavy, ancient power," Noel says, pausing and turning the younger man. "You know how to fight and you're a natural leader. You're going to be an Alpha one day."

Richard sighs and rubs his neck for a moment, then nods, "So what does this mean?"

"I want you as the Clan Executioner," Noel says immediately. "You follow my orders and those of the Pack leaders, but no others. You get a chance to learn, figure out the system, and eventually, when you're ready, you move to the position of the clan's Beta."

"Your second in command," Richard says with a nod, understanding. Noel is grooming him to take over. "What's the catch?" he asks, wary.

Noel sighs, shaking his head, "Not a catch, just seeing the writing on the wall. Atlanta has it figured out, their Pack is rich, powerful, an influence there and spreading. If we don't get strong and unite, as a Pack, the People will wipe us out, like they did in California."

Richard scowls, nodding in agreement, but shaking it at the end, "I'm one man, Noel."

"So was Curran, the Beast Lord of the Atlanta Pack," Noel says with a tilt of his head. "I want us to have a team that ain't gonna go down in the first round without a fight. I don't have any sons, Rick. You're my best prospect for my Clan, for our future."

Richard growls to himself, but nods, "Well, for Hoffman's, I think we should go with the last option. It gives me some flexibility. And I want to pull in more businesses from the Clan, once I get it figured out."

"Done," Noel says, leading him once more towards the sound of the kids. "I have a car dealership that's pretty successful on the east side of town. My dad founded it. We'll give you a few months, see where you're at."

"We need to organize training to fight, too, better than what we have, and reaction teams," Richard says with a nod. "The Guild can react, as can the Order of the Knights of Merciful Aid, and the People. Us, not so much."

Noel frowns and scowls, "Too much truth at once." He growls but nods, "You are right though. I'll send you a few of our top fighters from Heavy. Use them to start up training and organizing."

"I know some folks from the Guild willing to train us, but it will cost," Richard says.

"We'll figure something out, a Shapeshifter chapter of the Guild," he says with a shrug and waves it off. "I'll be the founder or something. Later. Let's enjoy the rest of the day."

Richard nods and accepts the statement, knowing there's plenty on his plate as it is.

Richard walks into the front door of his office and pauses to take a breath, trying to identify the scents in the building. He has three dismembered heads in a sack in his left hand, and the smell affects him, as he is still learning to be precise with his nose. He wears jeans and a black t-shirt, with unornamented brown leather segmented armor over his torso and thighs, a bow and quiver on his back, a pair of swords and various other blades on his person. He has a bandanna on his head and a woodland cloak over his shoulders falling to his knees, his boots are muddy and there are specks of blood on various parts of him, though none of it is his.

"Day shift is here, and Tad," he says to the young, dark haired woman working the front desk. "But there's three scents I don't recognize."

"You have two unscheduled visitors, waiting on the second floor, outside your office," she confirms with a nod, munching on cookies as she looks at her notepad and date book, his appearance not bothering her. "The third was the guy on loan from the Guild, checking the layout and security."

"Did you check him?" he asks, stepping to the front desk and accepting a card from her.

"I called the Guild and confirmed his name, ID, description and code word," she says with a nod. She is a shapeshifter from Clan Wolf, a were-rat, and is doing well as a receptionist and appointment organizer for the company.

Richard scans the names on the card, "Okay. And the two waiting?"

"Clan Wolf Alphas," she says in a lower tone. "We have fingers in a few of their businesses, they may be here about that or Pack business."

"The body shop in town, the parts and repair place off of Sphinx lane for weapons, a magic paraphernalia shop, and a small car dealership, right?" he asks, to which she nods.

"Call the Guild, tell them I have the bandits that were hiding on the coast south east of the city," he hands the sack over the desk and she takes it with a frown. "Keep that on ice."

"Yuck," she says, holding the bag at full arm's length away. "I'm glad you're here on time, but you couldn't have just dropped it with a patrol officer?"

"Those three are worth two to three thousand bucks each," he says simply, pulling his cloak off and starting towards the stairs, past the offices in use on the bottom floor.

"I'll put it on ice, then," she says with an understanding nod.

He folds his cloak over his forearm, trotting up the stairs, then down the hall to his new office. He pulls his bow off his back, and pauses in front of the two people waiting outside his office sitting in a cheap waiting set with a low coffee table.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting, alphas," he says with a deferential nod to the couple.

The man is just at six feet tall, well muscled, but not as though he hits the gym regularly, more as though he simply watches what he eats and minimal work outs. The woman is five four, slender and a natural blond, and moves with what Richard recognizes as someone who has trained to fight. The man moves fluidly in the shapeshifter way, but not with the instincts given by training, as she has. He wears a nice suit, blue shirt and off white tie, and she in a skirt with a jacket, both in a cobalt gray color. The two are young, late twenties in appearance, though they are both in their late thirties if Richard recalls his briefing on them from Noel.

"We just received coffee from your assistant, Alex," the man says as he rises to his feet and shifts his coffee to his left hand, offering his right to shake. "My name is Thomas Domasca, Alpha of Clan Wolf, and this is my wife and mate, Theresa. She is a practicing witch, but not a shapeshifter."

"It is a pleasure to meet the both of you," Richard says after shaking both of their hands respectfully. "I apologize if I'm a bit messy, I just came off a job with the Guild. You are welcome to come into my office, and we can talk."

"Thank you," Thomas says with a wave, and Richard notes their scents, as well as a touch of tension that doesn't reach his face or tone.

Richard gestures to the seats before his desk and hangs up his cloak, then begins putting away his bow, arrows and swords.

"Was it a difficult hunt, the contract with the Guild?" the woman, Theresa asks in a soft voice, a sound like velvet.

"In some ways, yes, because it was difficult to find them, and lure out from their warded position," he says as he sorts his arrows out and places them in appropriate bins in a wall locker he has in his office for storage. "Once they moved, though, they were simple to take down. I tried to take the leader alive, but he was much more difficult to deal with than I had thought."

"You look no worse for wear," she comments, waving at his undamaged armor and clothing, though with some mud and blood lightly splattered on it.

"It is far harder to take someone alive then to kill them," Richard explains as he sits, having merely set his weapons aside, and planning to clean them later. He has a bottle of water on the table for himself, not wanting to have his guests with a drink and not himself, a subtle message of comfort that both Alex and Tasha has told him is important with dealing with shapeshifter and inter-Clan relations.

"I don't have the files in front of me for your businesses, but Alex should be along shortly with summaries, and can get the complete files together if you'd like to go over them," Richard says with a nod to the two, and a as he finishes Alex steps in and hand a short stack of folders to Richard.

"Complete files are being compiled and I can have a brief together for presentation at two, sir, if that suits," Alex says with a nod to Richard, then to Thomas, his Clan Alpha.

Alex still looks uncomfortable in his khakis and polo shirt, but it's a natural stance, not the clothing. And despite the stance, his voice is firm and unhesitant.

"Mr. Domasca?" Richard asks politely, looking to the other man.

"I didn't think you would be able to give us any information from your end for at least another week," he says with a slight frown at Alex.

Alex nods in apology to the Alpha were-wolf, "That estimate was prior to some changes we've experienced in the last couple weeks became effective, sir. I can answer some questions now without references, if you have a question."

Thomas frowns harder at the young man, and Theresa gently touches the Alpha's arm, with which he nods dismissal to Alex.

"I need to speak with Mr. Michaels in privacy," he says, turning his full attention to Richard and setting the coffee cup down on the small coffee table between him and his wife.

"Close the door as you leave, Alex, thank you," Richard says with a nod at the younger man, pushing his own unopened bottle of water to the side in the change of tone.

"You are further along than we had hoped," Theresa says after the door is closed and her husband gives her a subtle gesture as he leans back in his chair.

"We had to shuffle some things around, and I had to shake up some folks, but we're on track, I think," he says with a small shrug and spread of his hands, then clasping them on his desk in front of him. "May I ask why you've come to see me? Or is that too direct?"

"We had thought to talk more about the businesses then ease into Pack matters, but…" she pauses and glances at Thomas, who nods, his eyes fixed on Richard. "You seem to have things in hand, and that changes things."

Richard nods for her to continue, and she takes a breath before continuing.

"We have a son," she starts, but Thomas interrupts.

"His name is Timothy, and he is a were-wolf," he glances at Theresa who is looking at her hands with more focus than needed. "We had five children. Tim is the only one who has survived, the others all went Loup."

Richard nods slowly, understanding this much. Shapeshifters require mental discipline to control their shifts and the virus, Lyc-V in their systems. If they lose control, they go crazy and usually a violent killing spree follows. The children, with less control, as well as adolescence with hormones and the clash with adulthood, are the most dangerous times. Less than a third of shapeshifter children reach maturity, if he recalls his info correctly. The term used is Loup, and they are killed by both shapeshifters and humans alike.

"What do you want from me?" Richard asks, knowing that they are a different Clan, though Pack.

Theresa glances at Thomas for a moment, then up at Richard, her eyes tentative, "Alex looks good. Different from when Danny was in charge, better."

"He was a good kid, just needed guidance," Richard says with a glance at the door where Alex had left from. "He wants to own this company, to run it. He has a goal."

"Noel tells me that you think we should work together more, the Clans and the Pack," Thomas says, tilting his head as he studies Richard, his easy mask gone.

"The Order, the Guild, they have some magic, power, as individuals," Richard says, having practiced this pitch. "But their real power comes from organization. The People prove that, and so does the Atlanta Pack. We have that potential. If we don't use it, we leave ourselves open to be used or exploited. And if a large enough enemy comes, we will lose."

"The Wolf Clan is not weak and will not fall to its enemies," Thomas growls as he leans forward in his chair, nearly snarling at Richard.

Richard doesn't move, but looks at Thomas from under slightly lowered brows, "As you say, Alpha. I am not of your Clan, and cannot comment on the particulars of your organization or efficiency."

Thomas looks to say more, but a touch from Theresa, and he snarls slightly and leans back in his chair, Theresa leaning forward to speak.

"Thomas works very hard to keep our people together and organized," she says soothingly, and Richard shifts his eyes to her, though his head and shoulders move very little. "We have little to no formal training, however, in such organizations. After much discussion and deliberation, we have decided that our son would benefit from such training and instruction."

Richard narrows his eyes at her, then glances at Thomas, who looks like he bit into a lemon, he leans forward with his arms on his knees, looking intensely at Richard.

"I am no fool, Michaels," Thomas says with a shake of his head, his face upset, but the frustration and anger not directed at Richard. "I see what can be done with more training and organization. I have a handle on my Clan, but we need more. The People have started to pick off our weak and isolated. The Pack is running out of time."

Richard is paying very close attention to what is not being said, and he slowly reaches to his water bottle, opens and takes a sip. He thinks as he does, the movement buying him time, and he leans back, relaxing first, the other two still tense.

"I hate politics," Richard says, a seeming random statement. "But I like people, good people, I should say. In any organization there are good and bad. Even the bad can be used effectively, if you can't turn them into good people."

He takes another sip, getting curious glances from the two as they follow his statement, and he continues before they can interrupt him, "But the Pack is not an organization, we're a family. Call it Clan, Pack, Pride, gander or guild, at the heart, we're family, because we have to take responsibility for all of us."

He nods and continues as the other two nod their agreement, "We have the Pack up top, the Clans below, and in Heavy, you've probably heard that we are organized further."

"You have a Pride of Lions, though small," Thomas interjects. "And a Cete of were-badgers, if I am correct. You are divided further."

"Organized, not divided," Richard corrects, pointing at him slightly with the water bottle. "And we're working on adopting some other organizational methods within the Clan that I've learned from working in the Guild and the military."

"Yes," Thomas says, looking at Richard directly. "That is the kind of training we discussed."

"Your son, Timothy, how old is he?" Richard asks, taking the hint and driving back on topic.

"Seventeen," Theresa says with a smile. "Very smart, and in good shape. He was a straight A student and captain of athletic teams for the Pack teams put together for adolescents."

"Is looking to go to college?" Richard asks, glancing between the two parents.

"Undecided, we have the money, but not all the schools are accepting shapeshifters, and he hasn't decided, either," Thomas says with a slight growl.

"If he were to apply for a job here or with one of your businesses, what would he be interested in doing?" Richard asks, putting out the option, as that seems to be the point they want to address without saying it aloud.

"Management, ideally," Thomas says immediately. "He is a natural leader, but he doesn't have any real style, yet. He knows how to manipulate, but not really lead."

"I understand the difference," Richard says with a nod, as Thomas is trying to explain the distinction. "He can apply, list his skills and preferred tasks. I won't promise anything, though."

"No?" Theresa asks, tilting her head, but her face nearly blank.

"I don't know enough about you to make a judgment, but the honest truth is that I have no idea if he's a spoiled brat that will only condescend to co-workers or supervisors with disdain, since his daddy is Alpha, or if he's smart but comfortable kid that doesn't want a challenge and is just doing as he told," Richard says bluntly, to which both parents just stare at him openly for a long moment.

"Hmm…" Thomas says with narrowed eyes at Richard and a frown.

"My husband won't say it, but I will, Mr Michaels," Theresa says, leaning forward and looking at him with a harder face than she has displayed so far. The slight change of her posture, tone and the look in her eyes instinctively causes Richard to increase his assessment of her.

"I would consider it a personal favor to me, and to Clan Wolf, if you would accept my son to work for you, and to train him," she says, looking at him with her dark emerald eyes, and Richard can feel an increase in the magic radiating from her, a peek beneath her surface.

Richard takes a deep breath as he looks at her solidly, and feels her sincerity. He glances at Thomas, whose posture is different, but the look in his eyes matches that of his wife.

"I cannot promise that it will succeed, but I will promise to hire him and try to train him," Richard says while shifting his gaze between the two. "Pending initial evaluation of him, if he is trainable, I will instruct him in the fields and methods we spoke of earlier in general, if it is suitable."

"Thank you, Mr Michaels," Theresa says with seated bow.

"Thank me if learns, Mrs Domasca," Richard says with a nod to the older woman. "If you are not busy this afternoon, I can familiarize myself with your accounts and we can have that presentation this afternoon."

She looks to her husband, who nods slightly at Richard's shift in topic, allowing him to dodge thanking him and saving face.

"We will go grab lunch, I think, and return at, say two thirty, if that works?" he asks, standing, the meeting ending.

Richard rises and goes to open the door, "That will work. I will see you then."

Richard escorts them out, and watches as the two turn out of sight of the front door, his hands on his hips as he thinks.

"Mr Michaels?" Kate, the were-rat at the reception desk asks, knowing he's making a decision.

"Get ahold of Noel, and if the phones are working patch him to my office, I need to talk to him," he says, rubbing his chin.

"Yes, sir," she says, writing a note.

"And call the Guild, ask them if the bounty desk will be open this afternoon or early evening," he adds, turning to walk back to his office. "I'm aiming to swing by after work this afternoon to drop off the heads."

"Sir," she interjects, holding up her finger, and he pauses. "Davey was coming by this afternoon, with the stallion from the breeders for you to look at out back."

"Crud," he mutters, that will interfere with the presentation prep and other stuff. "Call him and see if he can wait til after the presentation with the Domascas, and if so we can either do it here or I can meet him at the Guildhouse, that's where he has it stabled, if I'm not mistaken."

"I will, and let you know," she says, making a note and picking up the phone.

Richard strides down the hall and starts issuing curt orders to a few of the staff, preparing for the rest of the day.

Richard walks down the hall of the Mercenary Guild, Houston Chapter, the sack of severed heads in his hand. He'd washed, changed to clean jeans, a gray t-shirt and as a concession to his guests had put on a collared shirt and tie, but rolled up his sleeves. He's since lost the tie, and re-armed himself when he'd left to come to the guildhouse.

He sets the sack on the counter for the bounty collection cage, then starts filling out the paperwork for claiming the reward. He's almost finished when a familiar scent hits him and he smiles to himself.

"Rick, my brother, there you are," Davey says from behind him as he approached.

"Here I am," he says with a shake of his head, finishing signing the form and hands it to the clerk. "You could have warned me your Alphas were visiting today."

"Was that today?" Davey asks with a smirk. "Sorry, slipped my mind. What was it about?"

"Can't remember, slipped my mind," he replies, knowing that shapeshifters love gossip, they do that instead of reading romance novels.

"Not fair, I only told them good things about you," he says as Richard turns to him, and they clasp hands.

"I might have said similar things, I think, if I talked about you, my memory is hazy right now," Richard says with a smile, and the two men lean on the counter as they wait for the heads to be processed.

"Things going okay in the company? Resources, was it?" Davey asks as they wait.

"I hate it, managing, paperwork, it's the reason I left the army," he grouses. "The guild makes us do just enough to get paid. If I don't want to be an organizer or leader, don't have to be. A job is a job."

"Sorry, bud," Davey says, shrugging.

"Pack's not so bad, just annoying right now when added on top of the rest, training everyone at work how to do stuff, lead and what not," he shrugs in return, then takes the offered receipt for his bounty from the clerk. Davey leads them to the stables in the back as he continues, "I think I'll be able to start getting paid from it this next week. Not sure how much yet, but it'll be nice to get some back, finally."

"I heard you guys had a cookout at your new property?" he asks as the walk to the rear of the building.

"Clan Heavy assembled," Richard replies with a chuckle. "I had ordered materials, they helped me assemble and erect. Just finished moving in."

"Good time?" Davey asks, already knowing part of the answer.

"Kinda," he says with a sigh as they enter the stables. "Noel made me Clan Executioner, and though my predecessor stepped down, I had a few challengers before the night was out."

"You survived," Davey points out.

"I wish they'd spread the word not to try and fight me," he says with a shake of his head. "It seems stupid to kill or maim our own folks, y'know?"

"I know, brother," Davey says, patting the other man on the shoulders, and they walk up to a chestnut colored warhorse with a blaze on his forehead. "This here's Dander, the stud I told you about. Doesn't shy much, not great with guns, but handles shifters pretty good."

"Nice boy," Richard croons, stroking the horses nose. "He's studded before?"

"Yeah, foals are looking good," Davey says with a nod.

"If you have the papers, like we agreed, I'll take him," Richard says, turning to Davey fully.

He pulls out a packet in an envelope and hands it over. Richard opens it and pulls out the papers, nodding as he glances through the documentation. He pulls out a thick envelope from his back pocket, handing it to Davey.

"Payment in full, cash, as agreed," Richard says, the thick wad changing hands.

Davey feels the heft, then tucks it into his jacket, "Why horses? Never figured you for a breeder."

"Hobby," he replies with a shrug. "I work with guns and knives, swords and bows, I enjoy it, but I hate magic engines, and like car engines. It's something to do, besides just work. And it can be profitable."

"Got it," Davey says with a nod as he follows where Richard leads the horse out of the stables, a saddle already on the horse. "You really not going to tell me what they visited about?"

"Who?" Richard says with a quizzical look, frowning at him as he swings up into the saddle. "I had visitors today?"

"Ass," he says with a snort, shaking his head.

"See you later," Richard replies with a chuckle and rides the horse out of the Guild stables and to his house outside town.

Richard rides his horse into the front yard of his property and pauses as a familiar scent reaches him. He smiles and dismounts, tossing the paper wrapped sheep carcass over his shoulder as he walks to the barn. Inside, he unsaddles the horse and gives it a good rub down before placing it in a stall, he has three other horses, all mares, and this one will get introduced to them this weekend, if time permits.

He enters the house with the wrap over his shoulder, his light leather cloak over an arm as he enters the back door, which was locked when he left, and is now. He goes about dressing out the carcass in his kitchen, having seen no sign of his visitor, save the scent he'd caught on the entry road. An hour later, the sun having set, he pulls out the last of the roasted meat from the stovetop, the tech up, and prepares two places at the table.

Finished preparing dinner, he pulls off his boots and creeps through the house, pausing at the base of the stairs and easing up to the second floor silently. He enters the dark open loft slowly, easing into the darkness and between the support beams, and pauses next to a side beam, crouching. He reaches over and pulls a piece of twine from where it's sitting next to the wall, and slowly tugs it taut, then a bit further.

The spring loaded on the window across from him pops the window open, and it swings open fully, silent in the night. After the movement of the window stopping, there's a long moment of silence, and slowly Richard can see a shadow creep to the edge of the window, looking in. He smiles to himself and slowly picks up the other string lying next to the first.

The shadow creeps towards the side, scanning the interior, and Richard tugs the string, and a sign flops down over the window. Richard stands and laughs aloud as he walks to stairs, then down to the dining room, pausing at the front door to unlock it.

A few moments later Tasha walks into the room, a frown on her face.

"That's not fair," she says with a half-hearted scowl.

"I hate those games, darlin', you know that," he says, gesturing to the other table setting with a smile. "And you're just mad that I'm a step ahead."

"So far," she says with narrowed eyes and a smile hinting on her lips as she sits, her jeans and t-shirt fitting her curves like a second skin. She opens her beer and taking a sip before pulling over the platter of cut meat

"How was work?" she asks as they finish up the meal.

"Got a voucher for ninety eight hundred for the bounties I was working on," he says with a shake of his head. "Got to Hoffman's just in time to meet the Wolf Alphas."

"Really?" she asks, tilting her head, curious.

"You didn't know?" he asks.

"I've been lying in wait all day, pretty much, part of the reason I'm a tad upset," she says with a touch of a growl, playful.

"Their son needs guidance and training, I'm hiring him, if he's trainable," he says in summary.

"Tim," she says with a moue as she chews on a piece of meat. "You won't like him."

"Why not?" he asks, curious.

"He's spoiled, has an air of arrogance and superiority, refined though, feels upper class, Ivey league," she says with a frown.

He sighs, shaking his head, "Well, we'll see."

"Are you okay?" she asks, pausing from eating, sensing something off.

He sighs, setting his beer down, "Just tired, a bit overwhelmed, is all. I'm just starting to get a handle on things, have a plan, then his thing with Tim and the Wolf Clan comes out. It all happened so fast, becoming a tiger, the Clans, the Pack, then shoved into leadership."

Tasha furrows her brows and leans her head back, looking down her nose at him slightly, "You don't strike me as the whining type."

"Not whining, or complaining, just laying it out," he says with a breath, picking up his beer and taking a drink from the bottle. "I can take it, will take it, just surprised, is all, and then you."

"Me?" she asks, tilting her head to the side and picking up her fork.

"Yeah, you," he says with a smile. "Want to run?"

"Thought you'd never ask," she says with a grin, getting up from the table and heading outside.

Hours later, late in the night, they lie on the roof of the barn, on a platform near its top Richard has as both lookout and hangout. They are naked and watching the stars and moon in the clear sky, their clothes in a pile to the side and lying on a blanket. They had started here, stripped, ran through the night as felines, then returned, making love to the sound of darkness.

"Do you think there's a god up there?" Tasha asks out of nowhere, her fingers tracing imaginary lines on his chest.

"At least one," he says with a smirk, but nods solemnly. "Yes, there is."

"After what he's made of us, the things that happen, do you think it's a dark god?" she asks, looking at him with worry in her eyes.

He smiles, looking at the stars overhead, "We receive not challenges we can overcome, but strength to overcome the challenges presented to us."

"Sounds like bible, I don't like bible," Tasha says in a teasing growl.

"A philosophy for life," he says with a light chuckle. "To have good things, to earn them, we must be worthy. For those who fight for it, life has a flavor, a taste, that the sheltered and the cowards will never know, will _never_ understand. All the flavor and spice of life is given to heroes, champions."

"We're heroes?" she asks, laughing lightly herself.

"Champions, at least," he says, and pauses as they hear a crash to the south, in the distance, and a monstrous roar. He slowly rises to a crouch, Tasha doing the same as they both look in that direction. The magic had crashed into the world an hour or so ago, and may have brought something with it.

"Sounds like we need to go be heroes," he comments, squinting at a looming shadow in the distance, magic exploding around it in a green flare.

"Big damn heroes," she agrees, reaching for her clothes with him.

Ten minutes later Richard and Tasha jog down the trail made by the giant they had seen and heard in the distance. Richard pauses in the trail, taking in its scent and glancing at Tasha.

She's wearing her jeans and t-shirt, though with Richard's leather armored breastplate over it, her messenger bag with herbs and ingredients slung over her shoulder. She has a crossbow and a quiver of bolts on her hip, enchanted by her, as well as some knives on her belt.

Richard quirks an inquiring eyebrow and she frowns, "It doesn't smell familiar, the magic has a flavor, though. Old, European, I think."

"Norse giant, maybe?" he asks himself, then leads them down the trail of broken trees and trampled grass.

He has a quiver of arrows and bow slung on his back, a short sword on his hip, knives in various places and a six foot spear in hand. Jeans and t-shirt complete his attire, his armor on Tasha.

"How can you tell where he's from?" he asks as they jog down the trail, the distant sound of heavy footfalls drawing nearer.

"All magic has a flavor, if you've felt it before, you recognize it," she says, jogging behind him. "Vampires are the worst, you never forget the way they feel. Yuck."

Richard chuckles at the tone, then slows as he approaches the looming shadow ahead of them. His night vision now is superb, and he can see the details in the light of the crescent moon and stars. Twenty feet at the shoulder, built similar to a man with a stoop shouldered stance, with gray white hair and greyish blue skin. As they close to thirty yards away he can tell there are two of them, walking in line.

He glances around, confirms he's on his land, then hefts and launches his spear hard as he jogs forward. The spear slices through the night and lances into the back shoulder of the trail giant, but a resounding clang rings through the night, and Richard curses under his breath. They're wearing armor, and he's struck it with the spear. He has his bow out and begins firing at the turning giant, circling around to keep his distance.

The spear still sticks out of its back, having penetrated the armor. Richard doesn't aim at its torso or head, instead shooting at the joints in its ankles and knees. At such short range, the targets large enough, and even with the toughened armor over it, chain or leather of some sort with strips of metal, the arrows bury themselves in to the fletching. The giant is still turning to its left when its left leg gives out, and Richard continues to circle quickly behind it, driving three more shafts into it, this time into its lower back/lumar area.

His quiver is two thirds full still, having started with two dozen arrows, and only using five on the leg and those three. He turns from the howling giant as the last of his short, quick shots bury into it, and to the giant in front of it, which has turned to its companion and Richard. He pauses as he assesses the creature, noticing that there is another further behind it. So, three then, or more…

He fires a shot into the approaching giant's knee, its right, and jogs to the side of the trail in the hip high grass, trying to get a better idea of the numbers he faces. His shot ricochets off the armor at an angle, and he hears a twang and then a small explosion of magic from the direction of the first giant. Tasha using the explosive bolts with the crossbow to finish off the incapacitated enemy. Now that he is at the side, he can see there are a total of four giants, the one that's down, and three others.

"Four total!" he roars into the night, pausing at a distance of thirty yards from the nearest turning giant and loosing four arrows at its hip, where he can see a crease in its armor.

Two skip off, but the other two dig into the giant, who gains a hitch in its step from the injury. Richard runs twenty yards ahead, faster than the giant, and fires another four at the next giant in the line who is approaching its companions. He strikes it in the side of its knee, three going in to the fletching. The giant roars at the night and throws something in Richard's direction.

Richard twists and dives on instinct and a shock runs up his arm as his bow takes a hit from something. He rolls to a crouch in the grass to find a battle axe sized for the giants lying nearby, having cleaved his bow in two. He draws his sword in his right hand, a hoplite short sword, and a kurki in his left the length of his forearm. The injured giant is turning back and forth, trying to decide to face Richard or whatever had finished off his comrade, as the other two giants walk in his direction to the north of the trail.

Richard crouches and stalks quickly and silently through the night, easing low with the grass over his silhouette, and studying his approaching enemy. They are both just topping twenty feet, like the others, and their armor and equipment look Viking to his eye. They have leather and patches of chain on their bodies, with an axe in hand for the one to his left, a club and dagger in the one on his right. Their eyes glint in the night, a pale blue light, and something about Norse Frost giants tingles in the back of his head.

The one to his left stops scanning as he sees him in the grass, confirming to Richard they their night vision is the equal to his own. Richard leaps into the air, only twenty yards distant, and the giant's axe not in a position to hit him as he arcs through the air and land's the giant's chest. He chops with the kurki into the thing's neck, and a shockingly cold rush of blue blood splashes him. He thrusts his short sword into the cut as he starts to slide down the stumbling giant's chest.

The sword grinds on something and he lets go as it jams and doesn't shake free. He leaps out and to the side, and feels more than hears the passage of the other giant's club as he swings at him and hits his mate. The club impacts on the wounded giant and a gurgling, choked bellow comes from it as it topples to the side from the impact. Richard lands awkwardly on his side in the grass, not quite managing the roll as he had hoped. As he rises he's hit by the shin of the last standing giant, and arcs through the air in pain.

He lands in a cut in the grassy field, the kurki dropped and he pushes himself to his feet. His left arm is bent, broken and pushing from the skin. He can feel the urge, the need to shift, but he jerks his arm straight with his working hand, growling at the pain. The bone is now aligned, and he lets his tiger free.

He roars into the night as he sheds his human skin, his clothes ripping to tatters as his bones align and muscles flex into their new form. He fur erupts over his skin, and where one moment he has knelt with a broken arm, he now bristles in the moonlight, growling low. The approaching giant pauses, seeing not the man which had attacked him but a primordial tiger crouched before him.

Richard leaps into the air, claws extended and jaws wide, and lands high on the giant's shoulders. Richard shifts and places his hips and rear legs over the giant's left arm, where the dagger is, and rakes with his hind claws while clamping onto the thick neck muscle with his front paws and jaws. The giant bellows and thrashes as muscle and sinew are torn from his left arm, the dagger tumbling from the damaged arm.

He shifts again as the giant falls to his knees and forward onto his chest, so Richard is now perched on the giant's back. He continues to rake with his back claws as he holds his place firm with his front claws. After a few moments, he leaps off the giant's back and into the grass, circling around and taking in the area again.

The first giant is down, smoke coming from its chest, the second is on its side, also smoking. The third is sprawled on its back, its chin mashed in from the last one's club, who is moaning on its stomach. Richard prowls around the group as the last one slowly bleeds out, then dies. He pauses as he finishes circling from the front of the small column to the side, a scent singing to him through the night. _Mate_.

"Rick," a soft voice calls from further in the grass, and he recognizes Tasha's voice.

He stalks through the grass to her, leaning in an open space by a tree, kneeling in the dirt with the crossbow loaded and ready.

"Are you okay?" she asks as he pads to her.

Richard takes a deep breath and tries to speak, but it only comes out as a raspy growl, and he bobs his head. She smirks and stands as he bumps his muzzle against her, taking in her scent.

"Giant bones are hard, and valuable," she says thoughtfully as she looks at the four corpses. "If we bring out oxen or the horse, we can drag them back, or cut them up here."

He growls in agreement, leaning against her, and thinking over the idea.

Richard looks up from where he is butchering the carcass of the frost giant in the summer morning light. The sound of a horse snorting and clopping through the field and grass to his location reaches his ears, though he can't smell them over the blood and gore in the air.

He leans the axe over his bare shoulder, wearing only shorts and barefoot, then hops up onto the severed skull for a slight vantage on the area. A cart with horse and an unfamiliar man is approaching from the house. He hops down from the skull and hefts the arm he'd just chopped off, tossing it into a pile with other limbs.

The cart stops ten yards away, and the young man dismounts, wearing jeans, a polo shirt and dress shoes. He looks familiar, though he is sure he doesn't know him. He has black hair, a strong jaw but an average nose, with a strong brow and a good build of someone who worked out, an erect posture near six feet tall.

"Wolf?" Richard asks, picking the axe back up and holding it in his left hand loosely.

"Yes, sir. Timothy Domasca," he says, walking up with only a brief hesitation as he scents the scene and absorbs the area.

"Do you go by Timothy or Tim?" Richard asks, setting the head of the axe on the ground and placing both hands on the handle, looking at the younger man's eyes levelly.

"Tim, sir," he says, stopping a few paces away, placing his hands in front of him, clasped easily. His tone is even, and clipped, an accent Richard hasn't heard in a while.

"You speak Russian?" Richard asks, turning to the carcass he'd been working on and going to the leg.

"Some," Tim responds, off balance from the route of the talk.

"Useful," Richard says, chopping at the knee of the giant, the last pair of legs he has to chop, as this is the last giant he hasn't cut the limbs off of. "Have your parents explained to you what they spoke to me about?"

"My father said I would be working for you, as a protégé," he says, glancing around the area. "I presumed he was speaking of Hoffman Resources, as it is the managerial firm for our businesses."

"Yes and no," Richard says, chopping evenly and unhurriedly as he speaks. "Not a protégé, you haven't proven anything to me yet. In time, perhaps, but right now, you work for me. I will train you, if I think you can be trained."

"I have a yellow belt in karate, and I have finished my Associates of Sciences degree in communications with honors, sir," Tim says with slightly squared shoulders, lifting his head a bit in pride.

"What am I doing right now?" Richard asks, chopping into the knee joint, the kneecap sliding to the side.

"Cutting up a dead giant," Tim says with a frown.

"I am harvesting the valuable portions of a Jotun Giant," he corrects. "What is a Jotun?"

"Uh, a giant, of some sort?" he says with a querying tone, unsure.

Richard sighs and turns to the younger man, "From Norse, Viking mythology. Their bones are stronger than granite, and some of their organs can be used for enchantments. We've already harvested what organs were usable."

"Oh," Tim says, realizing he'd just been tested, and failed.

"Your father told you something, what did your mother say?" Richard asks, holding the axe to the side again easily, but Tim now notices that he never loses balance, he is in control of every movement.

"She said…" he pauses, takes a breath then squares at him, meeting his eyes, the first time since they started speaking, as Richard is more dominant. "She said that you were dominant, that you could show me how to be a better Alpha than my father could ever be."

Richard narrows his eyes slightly at the younger man, his guess of who wore the pants in Clan Wolf confirmed.

"Your mother is a smart woman, and I hope I never find myself at odds with her," Richard says with a nod at Tim, then turns and swings one handed at the knee next to him, cutting through the last of the gristle with a single stroke.

"Your education is important, as is your background," Richard says, turning from the corpse. "I will decide by sundown if you are hired. You are being interviewed. Understand?"

"I am being tested," he says with a simple nod, no question or complaint, acceptance.

"We go to the office for the afternoon, the giant needs to be finished butchered before then," he says, looking at the sky. "You probably want to lose the shirt and pants, they'll get bloody."

Tim starts to shed his shirt and pants with no embarrassment, shapeshifters having no issues with nudity. Richard tosses him the axe when he's down to nothing and walks to the limbs. He begins hefting them to the cart, tossing them in like logs.

"Be precise in your cuts," he says as the young werewolf lines up to chop at the other leg. "Don't damage the bone with the steel of the axe, cut only the muscle and sinew."

Tim pauses in his swing before committing, and chops with much less force than he had originally intended, making a shallow cut instead.

"What do you know about the anatomy of giants and of people?" Richard asks as they work.

The next two hours are taken up with the two of them cutting up the bodies and making trips back to the yard by the barn to pile the valuable remains. While they work, Richard asks questions and when Tim doesn't know, such as how to properly butcher an animal, he gives instructions and impromptu classes while they work.

As they get to the house just after noon, Tasha is setting out plates on the back picnic table, smoke wafting from the grill in the back yard. They both rinse off under an industrial field shower by the barn, a large cistern of water on its roof feeding it through gravity. After they towel dry and dress they get to the picnic table as Tasha finishes placing grilled sausages on a platter on the table.

"What would you like to drink, Tim?" Tasha asks, having met him previously and talked with him prior to directing him to where Richard had been working.

"Water, please," he says with a nod, waiting for Richard's cue to sit.

Richard gestures him to sit as he sits himself on the end on a stool, and takes a beer from the bucket of ice on the table. Once Tasha has poured herself and Tim water in glasses, Richard bows his head for a quick prayer, then spears a few long links of sausage from the platter, followed by Tasha and Tim. They all cut the grilled meat into manageable parts, and Richard makes a blank statement.

"You're surprised I pray," he says, glancing at Tim.

"Yes, sir," he says, pausing to take a bite, then continuing after swallowing, obviously raised with table manners. "Most humans who are infected later in life are not religious, I had a friend in high school who was accidentally exposed to Lyc-V, and was very bitter."

"I could understand that," Richard says with a nod. "But that is not my way."

"The hearts will keep, until I get my ingredients," Tasha says into the pause, looking at Richard. "Then I can enchant some arrows, perhaps an axe, sword or spear."

"How many?" Richard asks, thoughtfully chewing on a sausage.

"One per heart," she says with a sip of water. "I'm going shopping today, and taking out a loan from Nita to pay for ingredients. If we sell one weapon, we'll more than recoup what it'll cost."

"You are not borrowing money from Nita," Richard says with raised eyebrows and a shake of his head.

"You don't have the money, or I'd ask," she says with a shake of her head and a frown. "We don't have time to sell the bones for what they are close to worth before the hearts go bad."

"Father's shop does," Tim says, interrupting them, hesitating at their immediate attention. "Have the ingredients, I mean. If it is just a temp account you need to open for immediate repayment, say in a week or so, I know Lynn, the lady that runs it, would be okay with it. Especially if Mr. Michaels would vouch for you."

"That's up to Tasha," Richard says with a pause, looking at her, then taking a bite of sausage.

"Yes, that sounds very good," she says carefully, thinking it over. "Do they have ground bear bone powder? And large quartz stones?"

"Quartz of sizes up to my fist in size," he says with a nod, holding up his balled fist to give an example. "And I know she keeps a variety of bone powders, though I don't know how much."

"It's the Herb 'n Legend, off of fourth," Richard supplies, before she asks.

"Pricey, but…" she trails off in thought. "I am going to call before you leave and the tech crashes and takes the phones with it. Will you give a verbal consent over the phone?" she asks with a smirk and an arched eyebrow.

"Yes," he replies with a smile. "Tim and I will take in the dishes and wash while you talk, then I'll confirm with Tim as witness, so it will be without question to Lynn. She's not as familiar with my voice, I think."

An hour later and Richard is riding into town with Tim at his side, both on horses, Tim having brought his own, a well-bred heavy boned but sturdy ride. Richard looks at it with an appreciative eye, especially as it is a mare and seems to be trained not just for shapeshifters but has a feel of a warhorse. They trot into town and ride into Hoffman Resources, where they stable the horses out back and are greeted at the front desk by Kate, who hands him a hot cup of tea.

As they pass the first office an older woman in her mid-thirties falls into step next to Richard, her severe face and brown hair pulled back into a tight bun. She hands him a folder and starts reading from a list on her notepad in front of her.

"Maps and paperwork are in the second floor conference room, as requested, Alex is prepping paperwork for Mr. Domasca's properties and businesses," she says in clipped and professional tones, walking with them, Tim awkwardly falling a few steps behind.

"Tim is going to help Tom on the Johanson account, from the East end, the docks account," Richard says, gesturing over his shoulder to Tim. "He needs a bottom line abstract by the end of the day, so Tom is not to slow down."

"Understood, sir," she says, glancing at Tim. "If you will follow me, young man."

Richard sighs slightly as the young wolf walks after the older woman, and blows on his tea as he approaches the end of the hall, pausing at each office to get a brief update from the various employees he has working on different accounts and tasks. By the time he's arrived at his actual office, he has finished his tea and is up to date on where the company is at for most of the accounts.

"Morning, boss," Alex says, walking up to the office door, a thick folder under his arm, his hair combed over. "I have some packets for you to check and then sign. And the payroll."

"Ugh," he says with a disgusted grunt, setting the empty mug to the side and clearing his desk as Alex pulls out packets.

"I heard you had trespassers on your property last night," Alex says, as he waits for Richard to scan the document before signing.

"Frost giants, Norse, we think," he says absently, then nods at the document and signs next to the red X marked at the bottom.

"Have you done anything with the bodies?" Alex asks, setting another packet in front of him, removing the previous.

"Spent part of the night and this morning harvesting," he comments, pausing and reading a few lines in particular of this packet, then nodding and signing.

"Alone?" Alex asks, setting down the next packet. "Must not have gotten much sleep."

"I didn't," he confirms, scanning the document. "And that's good, subtle but leading."

"Sir?" Alex asks, tilting his head to the side.

Richard smiles and glances at the younger were-lynx, "You know I had help."

"Ms Nash?" he asks, referring to Tasha.

Richard chuckles, "Don't fish, it's not your style."

Alex's serious mask cracks, and he smirks, "I'll hunt then. Am I being replaced?"

"You're smart enough to know that I'm one of the few folks dominant to you that won't beat your ass for asking," Richard says as he finishes the last packet and takes the payroll sheets, two lined items with signature blocks on the bottom. "It would be a lot of work to replace you, and you are definitely trainable. We just got to get you cracking on that formal education thing, and get you more combat training and experience."

Alex's expression sours at the mention of college, "Applications are all in, I'm just waiting on responses."

"Don't forget the options to test out," Richard reminds him again. "You can probably crack most of the 101 stuff, I think, based off of work experience. That will skip you to second or third year."

"Yes, boss," Alex says with a determined nod.

"In the meantime, I want you to tutor with Tim, both ways, him to help you will communications, you to show him the financial pieces," Richard says, slowly looking through the paycheck numbers, hours worked and rates in the columns.

"On his family businesses?" Alex asks, nodding.

"No," Richard says firmly with no hesitation, pausing in his scrutiny of the finances to look Alex solidly in the eye with an Alpha stare. "He is not to look at any account from his family or relating to his family. Keep him as far from his family's financial interests as possible, especially for the next month."

Alex blinks in surprise, "Why, is there something wrong?"

"You're the one looking into their files, you tell me," Richard says, turning back to his numbers, gesturing Alex to sit and close the door.

Once seated Alex pauses in thought, then shakes his head, "It all looks good, but we've only done the preliminary check, like most of the other businesses we work with. The body shop was on the list for next week's management review."

"Bump that up on the schedule, but shift stuff around so the herb shop is looked at closely at the end of next week," Richard says after nodding and signing the first page of the payroll.

"Do you think that something is off?" Alex asks, curious.

"I'm not sure," he says, setting the sheet he was looking at down and looking at Alex directly. "But when one thing happens, it's an accident or just an incident, but if something else happens, which is even remotely related, it may or may not be coincidence. If a third happens, then there's something wrong. In the army, we called that enemy action."

"You think the Wolf Clan is the enemy?" Alex asks, his current membership in that clan.

"No, it's just a way of thinking," he says with a shake of his head. "It a way of looking for patterns, connections that may or not be there. A way to start preparing for contingencies."

Alex pauses in thought for a moment under Richards gaze, then looks up at him again, "My father was always talking about plans that never happened, or that he never worked on. I always thought they were dreams or him borrowing trouble."

"He was Alpha of Clan Cat," Richard says with a twist of his head, picking up the payroll sheet again. "He was probably thinking ahead."

"I'll shuffle the schedule, and make sure the inspectors are reliable," Alex says with a nod.

"I'll do the body shop," Richard says, looking at numbers. "Get someone who knows magic well to do the herb shop eval, I can't explain why, but I have a feeling about it, not sure if it's good or bad, just that something will be off."

"Yes, sir," Alex says, looking up as he mulls it over, making a mental note.

"Not writing it?" Richard asks, signing the last page of the payroll.

"No, sir," he responds, looking at Richard again and standing as he is handed the approved payroll papers. "If I'll be studying with Tim, I shouldn't keep something like that written nearby."

"You're catching on," Richard says with a nod, then tilts his head. "Why?" he asks, a test, and one Alex is familiar with.

"Tim is probably acting from his parents' direction, not a spy, per se, but we have to remember his loyalties may be a bit divided," Alex responds, becoming more confident in his answers.

"He strikes me as a good kid, eager to please, but that just may be his reaction to me, as an Alpha. Today is his trial day, and he owes me an abstract on the Johanson account before dark," Richard comments, leaning back in his chair.

"The maps and files you called about are ready," Alex mentions, motioning to the small meeting room down the hall. "It's in relation to the giants, I'm guessing."

"They came from somewhere," Richard says, standing and leading Alex out of his office. "I think the land to the north of me is on the edge of the New Viking Order, if I remember right."

"It is," Alex says as they walk down the hall, but pause as Richard sees a pair of men stride down the hallway, Kate behind them, with a harried expression on her face.

"I'm sorry, sir," she says as the two men stop in front of him in the hallway. "They are knights from the Order of Merciful Aid. They insist on speaking with you."

"I see," Richard says, standing solidly in the hallway.

The two men are both taller than him, one six foot and lean, the other a few inches taller and thicker in the shoulders, dark skinned and with a dour expression. The shorter one has blond hair and lines on his face, a stern expression from years working hard for a living on the front lines.

"Mr Michaels, my name is Knight Investigator Daniels, I'm with the Order," the man says, and Richard places his age in his mid-forties. He has a mid-length bastard sword on his hip, a dagger opposite and leather armor on, though Richard recognizes the chain mail reinforcement artfully layered beneath. He has a dark blue cloak with some faded designs on the edges, and his partner is dressed similarly.

"Investigator—" Richard begins, but Daniels interrupts him.

"I'm here investigating an incident last night, and would like to speak with you in private," he says, frowning down at Richard, and he recognizes both the man's name and his tone.

"Kate, did you invite the Investigator up to my office?" Richard asks, and Kate begins to respond from behind the two knights, starting to shake her head in the negative but Daniels interrupts again.

"Mr Michaels, people are dead. I need to ask you some questions," he says in a tone that is backed up by the dark skinned man adjusting his shoulders, the sling for a shotgun over his shoulder shifting.

"Unless you have an arrest warrant or similar authorized documentation from the city, the state or the country, you are trespassing," Richard says in a firm tone of voice that resounds down the hallway.

"May we speak in private?" Daniels says after a breath he seems to use to force himself to calmness.

"No," Richard says flatly, frowning at the man. "You entered my place of business without an appointment and without invitation. You are not a guest, you are violating my simple rights of both privacy and decent common courtesy. I will not approve of it, in any way."

"Mr. Michaels," Daniels begins to say, nearly growling the words.

"The tech is up, Inspector," Richard says in a lower voice. "A simple call ahead or a one minute of patience would have prevented this. You picked this fight. Get out or I will throw you out."

Daniels' eye twitches slightly as he scowls at Richard, then turns and walks away, trailed by Kate and Alex. When they are gone, he looks around at where heads are poking from office doors.

"Show's over, we have work to do," he says with a smirk he doesn't feel to break the tension, and enters the small conference room to look at the maps and files.

Richard is reading an old leather bound book in his office when Tasha arrives later that night, a large sack over her shoulder and two boxes of pizza in hand.

"I heard you had a rough day," she says, bringing in the food with a wry smile.

"You could say that," he says with a sigh, moving papers to make room for the pizza. "The Order stopped by, muscled their way almost to my office, wanted to talk about some people who died."

"Did they say how?" she asks, pulling out red plastic cups and pop for them to drink.

"Didn't get that far," he says with a growl to himself. "They bullied their way in, and the investigator's name rang a bell, a prejudiced guy against non-humans, heavily prejudiced. I threw them out on their ear."

"You're their top suspect, now," she says with a frown at him.

"I know it," he agrees with a sigh, taking a slice of pizza. "And having read over the local codes, and info on the local Neo-Vikings, I think we're involved."

"How so?" she asks, taking a bite of her piece.

"The giants likely killed their way out of the Neo-Viking territory to my north," he says around a mouthful of food. "Either summoned or conjured, intentional or accidental, don't know. I am going to stop by on the way home, see what I can find out."

"Well, I picked up the ingredients for the spells, tonight I am going to do the ritual as the magic wave hits, and then burn the flesh from the bones with magic," she says between bites. "That will keep the bones intact for full use."

"Good," he says with a nod, thinking. "What weapons are you using?"

"A double bladed battle axe, long bladed spear, a norse longsword and a battleaxe with a back pick," she says, gesturing to the window. "I got a hold of Noel, and he's sending some folks to your house to help me with set up and security, as we mentioned earlier today, and he's providing the weapons, at cost plus ten percent."

"I love dealing with actual professionals," Richard chuckles around a mouthful of pizza.

"We do need to talk, though," she says, nudging his door closed, the office soundproofed, and she knows it.

"That sounds ominous," he comments flatly for a moment.

"We only mentioned costs, the split, the plan for the giants' bodies," she says, leaning forward and looking at him solidly. "We need to have a real conversation about it."

"Okay," he says with a nod. "My open thoughts, and let me finish completely," he adds with a pause and a raised eyebrow to which she nods.

"My land, and the fight itself was mostly me, with you doing clean up and backup," he says with a shrug. "Kept the cripples off of me and from meddling, and kept their attention split. I only took one hit, and even if you'd not been there, I would have taken them all, it just would have taken a bit longer."

He pauses, inviting invitation, and after a few moments of jaw flexing, she grudgingly nods agreement, "But the start of the butchering and the harvesting indisputably went faster and better for preservation with you there, in human form, and with a better expertise on the magical matters. I did the heavy lifting for the final butchering with my new intern, but you're doing the rites and rituals to use the organs harvested."

She nods agreement as he talks, this a fair and apt description, "In general, they're my kills, with you on backup, if we had to file a report or if people or Pack asks. For the money, I'd say I'm the primary, indisputably as they were my kills on my land. Processing in part by you, and use of parts by you."

"Sums it up," she says with a slight frown and a hesitant nod.

"I'm not giving up any of the parts or gear made for free to anyone, save you, if you want one of the enchanted weapons from tonight as payment in full for the enchantments of all four and the cleaning of the bones," he says inquiringly.

"Done," she says but holds up a finger. "I pick the weapon."

"I want the battle axe, whichever one suits my fighting better, you can pick from the others," he says with a nod of agreement.

"The sword," she says solidly, mentally already figuring on how to strengthen the enchantment on that one.

"Done," he says with a nod of agreement. "For the rest, the Pack can get us good references and rates for equipment and weapons made from the bones. We'll sell or barter, but bottom line, ten percent for you."

"Twenty," she says with a shake of her head.

"Twelve," he says after a few thoughtful bites of pizza.

"Fifteen," she counters a few chews later.

"Twelve," he says with shake of his head. "Don't be stubborn."

She bares her teeth at him, leaning back in the chair for a moment and sipping from her cup, then nods, "Fine, twelve percent."

"And I expect you to help with getting things set and made," he adds, then grouses under his breath. "Twelve percent."

"Of course I'll work for it," she says with a frown at him. "You're being a miser. Twelve…" she shakes her head. "If you give me twenty, I'll manage more of it, and help with the haggling."

"I have some folks in mind already for the haggling and selling," he says, gesturing at the binders on his back wall with account info. "We sell too much local, we'll flood the market, lose value and profit. I can get three to seven free traders out of the port to pick up weapons and gear, sell it throughout the Gulf. After the first few to defray our initial costs, we can wait on when the rest sell over the next three months to the traders. Make a full profit with no market flood."

She makes a sour face, "Damnit. I hate it when you remember stuff."

He chuckles at her mock indignation, "I love you too, darlin'."

She winks at him, then blows him a kiss, "Give me fifteen, I'll run point on the Clan politics and pull in some favors to the Clan from the Pack and outside."

He ponders it thoughtfully, "I'll give you eighteen if you'll give me one other condition."

She narrows her eyes at him, his sudden generosity making her suspicious, "What condition?"

"In no more than three months' time, you are dominant to Nita in your Pride," he says with a raised eyebrow to her.

She growls low, frowning at him hard, pursing her lips and clenching her jaw. She can see where this is going, and as angry as it makes her, the inner her wanting to leap across the desk and slam him into the wall, the logical part of her sees the rest of it. He will not only pay her to step up, but is swallowing his pride by asking and making it a condition.

"Done," she says with a solid nod, but still flexing her jaw.

He waits a few minutes as she simmers and they continue eating, then asks, "Did you bring the weapons I asked for?"

"Replacements for the lost or broke gear last night," she says with a nod over her shoulder. "It's at the front desk with Kate. I also grabbed the Norse battle axes you asked for."

"Good," he says with a nod. "I'm going to head to Ragnar's after this. I may not get home til late."

"I'll probably be out cold in bed," she says with a teasing smile. "The magic will take it out of me. Try not to wake me."

"No promises, hon," he says with a smile.

She stands up, having finished a slice of pizza, then walks over and sits across his lap. She strokes his face gently, looking in his eyes intensely, then kisses him softly.

"I love you," she says in a bare whisper, rubbing her nose on his cheekbone.

"I love you, too," he replies, kissing her in return.

Richard rides out of the Hoffman stables to find Tim waiting on his horse on the street. Richard reins in, and quirks an eyebrow at the younger man.

"You haven't told me if I passed, sir," he says with a nod, a bit anxious.

"You're hired," Richard says with a nod. "But I have questions so we can figure out the details of your employment. Ride with me."

They ride side by side down the paved street of Houston, heading towards the outskirts and Richard's property.

"Did your father explain what he wants me to teach you?" Richard asks directly.

"Yes, sir," he says with a nod. "I can see how you are similar, yet different than him. I have a lot to learn."

"And not all of it in the office, if you want to be a real Alpha," Richard amends to which Tim nods agreement. "That being said, the hours will be long, and the pay will likely be catch as catch can. Meaning you won't starve or get evicted, but beyond that, I make no promises. Do you understand?"

Tim makes a sour face, but nods.

"Do you think you should be paid more?" he asks, looking directly at the younger man.

"Not really," Tim admits.

"Why not?" Richard asks, his tone firm.

"Mother says that the most valuable things we cannot put a price tag on," he says carefully. "Experience is one such thing, I believe."

"She's right," he agrees, nodding. "You will look back one day and realize how young you were, if you survive to get smart."

"My father said to present you with the horse, as a gift, once I was accepted," Tim says after a moment, waving at the mare he rides.

Richard glances at it, literally looking the gift horse in the mouth, "I can't refuse, but I must know, is it a gift from you, or him?"

"Me," he says immediately. "I was there when she was foaled, and during her training. She's solid and reliable. Father says that it is an appropriate gift, as I am giving you my childhood, and will make me a full adult."

Richard snorts, "And what did your mother say?"

Tim smirks, "She said you would appreciate a good warhorse to breed, but would sell it if a better option presented itself."

"Your mother is not Alpha of your Clan by accident, you know this, right?" Richard asks, inviting a response.

"Yes," he agrees with a nod. "She's fast with a knife, and her curses are legends in the Pack. I would not piss her off unless I wished for a slow death."

"Nor would I," Richard agrees with a nod. "But if you were untrainable I still would have refused you."

Tim blinks in surprise, puzzled, and after a long moment asks, "Why?"

"If she would not understand why, I would not want her as an ally," he says simply, looking over at him. "And if you are a product of her, then she is not all bad, as you are still able to be taught."

Tim ponders this for a moment then nods in understanding.

"Take the horse to my place, and stable it," he says as they approach a fork in the road. "Keep watch with the others over Tasha for the night. I will be with the Neo-Vikings. Go to Hoffman's to work tomorrow, I'll send instructions."

"Tomorrow at ten am," he confirms with a nod, taking the western fork as Richard continues a bit more northward towards his Viking neighbors.

Richard walks up to the collection of log houses and campfires in the night, laughing and rough music playing as men and women drink and revel in the night. He smirks as he is greeted again as he is approached by men and women whom he knows. He knows them from jobs in town with the Guild and Rangers, and had waved him into the small village as he'd ridden up. Now he approaches the longhouse, wearing his leather armor, jeans, t-shirt, and short leather cloak, with a pack over a shoulder and weapons tucked in his belt.

"Richard TigerEye!" a voice booms as he enters the hall, and he smiles at the man at the far side of the long, low fire in the room who shouted it.

"Yarl Ragnar Fleethand!" he booms back, the other voices in the hall quieting as the two men greet each other loudly and with broad smiles.

"It is Url now," the other man says, a man the same height as Richard, just over five and a half feet tall, though thinner in build. He has a long beard and the sides of his head shaved bald, runic tattoos showing on his head and neck. He has scars from battle visible on his skin that shows beneath his leather vest, wearing no shirt, and only a thick belt with trousers and boots, though he has weapons tucked in the belt.

"And I see you heard I am a tiger now," Richard says in return, smiling at the man, knowing Ragnar's gruff appearance and demeanor hide a sharp mind.

"First I heard you were dead," he says loudly, the hall listening, though not silent. "Then that you turned, but not into what. When you bought land next to mine, I found you were a cat, and now you have confirmed you are a tiger."

Ragnar says it all in a singsong tone, taking a large tankard of ale from a serving wench and handing it to Richard at the end, "Well met, old friend."

"Well met, my friend," Richard says as he accepts the mug and drinks deep with him.

When they finish three long gulps together they clasp arms in a warrior's shake, and slam shoulders together in friendship. Ragnar waves and Richard follows him to where his bench is at the head of the hall.

"I have a gift for you, Ragnar," Richard says, pulling an axe from his belt. "Last time we met, you were using that old chipped axe, with the thinning handle."

Richard hands the axe's handle to the Viking, who feels its heft and feel of the shaft, then tests the blade with a thumb, nodding in appreciation.

"You come with a gift," he says in a softer tone, leading Richard past his seat to a slightly secluded alcove, by a thick tapestry for a touch of privacy.

"Four giants came on my land last night," Richard replies in a hushed tone, barely audible to Ragnar, meant only for his ears, and the Url nods, his eyes querying.

"Jotun?" he asks.

"Aye," Richard says with a nod, falling into the speech patterns of his host. "I killed them all, but felt it would be courteous to tell you. And men from the Order of Merciful Aid came asking me today to speak with them about dead men. If they were yours…"

He leaves the rest unsaid. Ragnar is clever and knows the politics of his world, as well as the world they live in. He nods slowly.

"A party went hunting close to the border near your land, but they were led by a man I know would not violate it," Ragnar says, sipping his ale after a moment, then nodding again. "They are due back tomorrow."

"The back trail leads to your land," Richard says with a shake of his head. "I would investigate…"

Ragnar looks at Richard with suspicion for a moment, then nods and walks forward to the firelight, "Horman, Tellen," he calls to men at the table, waving Richard to a seat.

"My lord," the two men say as Richard sits with them at the table, his bag and cloak set aside.

"Jotuns have come among us again," he says aloud, addressing the group at large, and now having their attention. "They have invaded our land, and try to raid our neighbors," he continues, gesturing to Richard.

"We will kill them for their arrogance!" a man yells drunkenly from the back, to which a chorus of agreement goes up.

"We shall, we shall," Ragnar says in agreement, waving his hands to settle the group. "But first, our friend and ally, Richard Tigereye, shall tell us his tale of how he slew the Jotuns who thought to kill a cat."

Richard chuckles as he finishes taking a long drink of his ale. Ragnar has a gift for theatrics, and this looks to be a long night.

Richard steps up to his house carefully, tired and ready for sleep. He's been up for over forty-eight hours and is ready for bed. Between taking out the bandits, fighting giants, butchering them, going to work again, and finishing with a night with Neo-Vikings, he is done in. A shiver passes over him as he steps over his threshold, the magic of the ward on his house erected by Tasha tickling him.

He puts up his cloak and bag, and is grateful that the guard left here from the Clan was willing to take care of his horse for the night, he is not in the mood to handle the stallion. He eases down the hall, tired but mindful that Tasha asked him not to wake her, and into his spare room for his weapons and gear. After putting them all away, he creeps on bare feet to the bedroom, and pauses as he takes in the scene.

Tasha is lying on her stomach, her bare back glowing slightly in the light from the window, the curve sensuous and calling to parts in the recesses of his soul. He strips to nothing in silence as he studies her, then eases onto the bed next to her. She shifts in silence to accommodate him, pulling him close and curling up with him.

"Took you long enough," she murmurs into his neck, nuzzling him.

"Everything go okay?" he asks, stroking her arm gently.

"Fine," she sighs, her leg draping over him possessively. "Mine," she mumbles drowsily as she fades back to sleep, and he kisses her tenderly on the head, then drifts to sleep himself.

Richard sits on his front porch, checking the edges on his kurki and his new short sword, a tactical roman gladius. He has checked their balances already and done some short forms this morning and is satisfied. He has done the same with the weapons Tasha enchanted last night, and decides the axe with the spike on the back end is more suited to him than the other. He notes the slightly stronger feel of magic on the sword, but doesn't begrudge Tasha, she is a professional, just like him.

Richard glances up as a group of men ride up his drive, eight men, stereotypical Viking in appearance in a patchwork of leather and chain, weapons on their bodies and circular shields on their arms. Two others are with them, a narrow young man with a bow in hand instead of a shield, and a grey haired older man with pouches on his belt and a ratty eyepatch. They dismount a respectful distance away and approach as a group.

"Good morning, Richard," Ragnar says distinctly with a mischievous glint in his eye, from the lead of the group. "Ten men, as agreed. Myself, my son, our shaman and seven fighters. We are all volunteers."

"Good," Richard says with a nod, standing with his own bow in hand.

He wears his better armor, leather with steel strips, flexible for a mobile fighter. He has the axe and kurki on his hips, daggers on his back and calves, and the gladius on his back beside the quiver of arrows. His dark red leather cloak completes his gear, falling to his knees.

"How good is he with that bow?" Richard asks, pointing at the young man's short bow in hand, to which Ragnar smirks.

"He hits running rabbits at a two dozen paces," Ragnar says while the young man bristles at Richard.

Richard glances at the house then addresses the entire group, "I want there to be no mistakes or misunderstandings."

"The Jotun came from somewhere, and raided my land. The trail is cold, but not gone, I can and will follow it, and we will raid them," he says, looking at the group, who nod understanding. "Shares equal to equal work, and value," Richard says in a louder tone, meeting all their stares.

"Ragnar and I are the raid leaders, he for you, me for mine," he looks to Ragnar, who nods agreement. "We will work together to make this a successful raid."

Richard reaches back his right hand without looking, accepting his spare short bow from where Tasha places it, having heard her approach.

"Composite short bow, range is further and penetration is better than that," Richard says with a gesture at the bow in the young man's hand.

He walks to the barn where a target hangs from a rope that drops from an extended beam, reaching into a sack on the barn wall as he passes. Richard hooks the bow to the target, a foot across and circular, and points at the post thirty yards away. The young man, no more than sixteen, walks to it with a nod from Ragnar and notches an arrow.

"I will swing the target," Richard says loudly as he raises an apple in his hand, poised on his fingers. "You will shoot through the apple, so that the arrow strikes the target as it moves. You have until Tasha counts to twenty to shoot, and only one shot. Make the shot, and the bow is yours to keep. Do you understand?"

"Aye, I do," he replies with a young but firm voice, barely a waver.

"Tasha, when my hand stops, begin the count," he says, turning and pushing the target to motion.

He holds up his hand with the apple, waiting with internal tension as Tasha begins a slow count aloud. As she passes twelve, the youth fires, and the arrow hits the target with a solid thunk, but misses the apple. Richard lowers the apple, pulls out the arrow, then strides to the young man who is frowning.

"It was a good shot," Ragnar says quietly with a shake of his head, patting his son roughly on the shoulder.

"Not bad," Richard says, then glances up at where another young man is running up his drive.

He is also wearing leather britches and vest, boots and a bow in hand, another of Ragnar's people.

"Floki, go home," one of the older men says with a wave back the way the youth had come from.

"My bastard son," Ragnar says in a bare murmur, unheard to the others.

Richard glances at Ragnar with a thoughtful expression as the other, slightly older man, grimaces. After a moment Richard quirks his eyebrow in slight question, Ragnar nods with a grudging set to his shoulder, then nods to the target.

"Father, let me come," the young man says as he arrives, probably sixteen, or close to, and in good size and shape, but missing the exchange.

Ragnar looks to Richard with everyone watching, to which Richard walks back to the target, and points to the post.

"Stand," he says, the boy does so with a nervous glance at the others, but readying himself.

"Shoot the apple from my hand, and into the target," he says, pushing the target into motion again.

The young man takes a breath, seats his arrow, draws and fires in a methodical fashion, little thought to it as he pushes the bow from him. The arrow slices out and the apple jumps from Richard's hand, hanging from the arrow in the swinging target. Richard lowers his hand and pulls the bow from the target, his own bow slung over his shoulder.

He pauses before the youth and holds the bow in front of him presenting it to the young man, "This is yours now, Floki Ragnarson."

The youth pauses, surprised, and takes the bow after a glance at his father who nods approval. He takes it and Richard turns to Ragnar.

"Two archers, both good enough to hit the moving target at that distance, will be of good use, I think," he says, indicating both boys. "I have myself and two others, and thirteen is a good number for a raid such as this."

Ragnar nods in understanding, and Richard goes to where Tasha is in the stables, readying the horses.

"Where is Alex?" she asks in a whisper, so no one overhears.

"This is turning into a bigger production than I thought it would," he says with a near growl. "I thought Ragnar would offer a few fighters, not a whole raiding party."

"What's his angle?" she asks, glancing at where the Neo-Vikings are discussing things in a group.

"He's clever, and thinks long term," he says with a shrug. "We're people to him, just like everyone else. And he understands dominance games. He's got more people on the raid than me, and if they get 'equal shares' as we talked about last night, then they get more, in total."

"That's why you were specific with shares equal to work, value," she says with a nod. "I'm rubbing off on you. What was with the challenge for the kid?"

"It will keep Ragnar from being pissed about my wording to the group, and with it being a test instead of a gift, he can ignore the exchange," he says with a sigh. "And it'll fluff up the story for later around the campfire," he admits with a smirk and shake of his head. "I'm not totally ignorant of how they do things."

A few moments later, as they have finished saddling three horses, Alex trots into the barn, out of breath. He gestures over his shoulder to the front of Richard's house.

"There's a band of Vikings in your yard," he says, leaning over and panting with his hands on his knees. "I don't know if they came to raid, or…"

He trails off as he notices Richard and Tasha ready to mount and with full kit and gear on. He takes a few breathes, mentally catching up.

"They are coming to help, aren't they?" he asks, walking to the unattended horse as Richard and Tasha swing into their saddles.

"Ragnar is Url to the village north of here," Richard explains as they settle into their saddles, waiting as Alex checks his. "They are farmers, hunters, but he sends the hot heads and young ones to the Guild for work, so they can get experience and extra money."

"Are they any good?" he asks, adjusting the short, curved sword on his back, as well as the six inch pair of knives on his belt.

"Tested, and they know giants," he says with a shrug. "But they are Vikings, and extra hands will be better. Close the barn door when you come."

He trots his horse out to the group of Neo-Vikings, who have mounted up, save for Ragnar, who approaches Richard on foot. He stops by the horse and pats its neck easily.

"Both my sons are yours, and good men from my village, Richard TigerEye," Ragnar says with a solid look. "As a father, and a good Url, I know that two leaders on a raid can cause problems. You are in charge of this raiding party."

Richard chews on that for a moment, "No issues?"

"Not from my men," Ragnar says, then beckons the old man forward. "But speak with Horl, so you know what he can do, once the magic returns."

Richard nods, reaching down and clasping Ragnar's arm in a warrior's grip, "I will care for them as my own. You have my word."

"I know," he says with a nod, then turns to the men and addresses the group as Alex rides up on his pale, speckled mare.

"Go with Richard TigerEye and win honor and riches! A feast awaits in my hall upon your return!" he yells to them all, then turns from them and strides back the way they had come.

Richard nods and leads the group down the dirt road into his land to where the fight had taken place. After a few dozen yards, he checks the placement of the men, and barks a few short orders to the men, pointing for positions and duties. By the time they arrive at the site of the fight, they are in a double column with the two Viking archers on the sides, ten paces out, with Richard in the front with the old shaman and Tasha at the rear with her crossbow.

Richard dismounts from his horse, his new recurve bow in hand, his nose fluttering and taking in the spilled blood and smell of the giants. The blood is older, but still noticeable, and the trail so far is easy to follow. He waves to the group, and they follow him as he trots down the back trail he had started to follow the night of the attack. Now the giant scent if fainter, the tech wave up and time having passed, though thankfully no rain.

It is just after the noon hour when they arrive at the border of Richard's land with the Neo-Vikings, and he calls a halt. They take turns eating and giving the animals a rest before continuing. Richard leads them again, and not long after entering the other land, the vegetation thins and a chill strikes the air. Magic has changed the nature of the land, and the trail is harder to follow, as vegetation is even sparser.

The scent remains, though faint, and Richard walks now as he follows the trail through shallow gullies, though not formed from water but magic. The gulley is wide enough for two horses and that is it, and now the two archers are in the middle of the column, Richard still out front of the horses. He raises a hand and the party halts behind him, and he kneels to check the smell of the dirt.

"What is it?" Alex asks, having dismounted and padding next to him.

"Smoke, just a hint, and sulfur, I think," he says, raising an eyebrow at him, to which Alex nods.

"Magic has changed the landscape," he says with a nod. "Pass the word, it may be ice, or fire or dragons, I don't know. Norse mythology is varied and dangerous."

"I will," Alex says, trotting back to the group.

Richard starts forward again, and after a few steps, places an arrow on his bowstring. The move is instinctive, something in his hindbrain pushing for the movement and he doesn't think of it. He walks carefully forward, and the men behind him have dismounted, leaving the horses.

Richard is ten paces or so ahead of the others, and they are clustering together, forming by default a battle line, their shields ready to overlap to provide a wall if needed. Richard comes around the next bend and can see a wider area ahead, but pauses as he studies the walls, now fifteen feet high, and thirty feet across at the widest. The walls are mostly dirt, but with rocks out cropping from them, and he tests the air with his nose as he scans the area carefully.

The men at his back are quiet, though far from silent to Richard's ears. They have sensed his tension, though, and are wary as he is, and following his lead and orders. He gestures for them to stay, and walks forward while looking around, knowing there is something watching him in turn.

He is nearly in the center of the widened portion when the outline on the wall is recognized, and he shoots his bow on reflex as motion explodes from the wall. A massive snake, thicker around than his thigh, lashes from its position by the wall and strikes at him. His arrow skips off its head, not opening its mouth until the last moment, and biting into Richard's left arm as he brings it forward to block.

The snake latches on but holds him, rather than withdrawing, and begins wrapping its coils about him. Richard has discarded the bow, it having snapped as the coils wrap around him, and has pulled the enchanted axe from his belt. The magic is down, but he chokes up at the head and punches the spike on the back side into the snake's neck, near the head that is still latched onto his arm.

Blood flows and the coils spasm around his legs and abdomen as the snake reacts. The coils shift, rising to his chest, and Richard starts punching it hard and furiously in a near frenzy, knowing that to let it get a good grip is to die. He punches again and again with the spike, and blood continues to coat him, now on his side on the ground. He hears yelling and shouted commands as he fights, but is too concerned with his own survival to look around yet.

The snake releases its bite, but Richard grabs its neck before it withdraws fully, his arm injured, but strong enough to keep it close for a few moments. He shoves the spike into the snake's neck, again and again, and blood sprays, bubbles gurgling with it. Finally the bubbles halt and the head goes slack to the side, and he frantically starts pushing the dead coils off of himself.

He looks around as he works, the process not easy or quick. Three others are wrapped in coils, and the remaining fighters are chopping at the attacking snakes with axes and swords, trying to free their comrades. As he watches, Alex pulls a snake's mouth open with his bare hands, exposing the injured thigh it had bitten. He strains and breaks the jaw, causing the snake's body to recoil from the other man and to start coiling Alex, but not fast enough.

Richard finishes pulling the snake off himself and stands on sore joints as he surveys the field.

"Axes and picks, swords away!" he shouts, sprinting to the nearest man and suiting actions to words, chopping with his axe against the snake's body, then near the head.

In a few minutes the fight has settled, and Richard takes stock as they start to lay out two bodies on the ground. He studies the two dead, his own breath returning and his arm throbbing from the shallow bite marks from the snake.

"Four snakes, constrictors, no venom," Tasha says quietly from his shoulder. "The men are checking gear, but there's no submission in them. The shaman's already pulling stuff out of the bodies."

"They smell bad, have short tempers and are vulgar and rude," Alex says from his side, looking at the bodies, then back at the other men as they prepare to continue. "But there is not an inch of quit in them," he says the last in admiration, and Richard nods agreement. Alex is learning, and coming along nicely.

"Are the organs worth anything?" Richard asks, turning to the shaman who has cut one open and studying the innards.

"Not really," he says with a sour face. "We can drag the bodies when we pass through later, for the hide and bones."

"They protected the passage," Floki says as Richard hands his remaining arrows to the youth, as own bow is broken. "Why?"

Richard hefts a shield handed to him from another, a fallen man's shield, "Guard dogs at the entry to their land or home. Which means our destination is near. These were guards, but not the masters. What comes next will be harder. Ready?"

The group all nod, and Richard turns to lead them further down the ravine, his axe still out and ready. A few hundred yards later the gulley opens up to a flat area, and Richard signals the group to halt before they come into view of the basin before him. The bowl of land is a hundred yards across, and has a black and red stone building in its center, forty yards across and two stories high. On the far side of the bowl a small trickle of red liquid dribbles down the steep wall of another gulley, lava.

"Fire giants," Richard says over his shoulder, and hears Alex and Tasha pass the word around.

He studies the area for a long set of minutes in the afternoon sun, then nods to himself and returns to the group.

"I will go down, speak to them," he says simply. "If I need help, I will call."

"We should just kill them," one of the burly men with them says, and a few others nod agreement.

"We could, but then we only get paid once," Richard says, and the man is puzzled, but he has everyone's attention now. "I go down, tell them I killed their kin and guards, but will leave them for a fee. No more fighting necessary, no one of ours needs possibly die."

The last part is what holds them, as now only eleven are here now, not thirteen. He glances around, and sees no open resentment, and nods at them, then Tasha specifically.

"If I shout," he says, stepping close.

"We come running," she says with a nod, then grabs his collar and jerks him close, kissing him briefly and passionately. "Don't get killed."

"That's pretty close to the top of my list," he says with a slightly shortened breath.

The other men chuckle roughly at the display, and Richard strides out of the gulley alone, placing his axe back into its place on his belt. As he closes to thirty yards to the front door, it opens, and he pauses as he takes in the scene. A tall woman, eight feet tall, strides from inside.

She is muscular but beautifully feminine, even if not really Richard's type. Her skin is scarlet red with black tattoos visible, and she wears leather leggings and vest, both a dark brown, and her hair is a bright blond, making him think of an open flame. Her eyes are blue, like the center of a flame, and her black nails are sharp talons on her fingers.

She smiles as she strides over the threshold, and motion behind her catches Richard's eye, two wolves exit the house, each twice the size of a normal wolf, and with coarse gray hair and red eyes. She licks her lips as she pauses a pair of steps from her door, a flick of red on her black lips as she looks at him, the wolves splitting up and starting to circle him.

"You are trespassing," she says simply.

"Four Jotun trespassed on my land, and I backtracked them to here," he states simply.

Her nostrils flare slightly, his scent reaching her, and she smiles sensuously at him, "You are a shapeshifter, a cat."

"Why did the giants come onto my land?" he asks, pushing authority into his voice and fighting the draw to like this giant woman.

Her smirk fades, "You may have power, but you are mortal. Watch your words."

Richard is not watching her, but the two wolves as they circle him slowly at a distance, and he starts to shift his stance to try and keep track of them.

"I came for answers, compensation for trespassing, and assurance it will not happen again," he says, cutting to the chase.

"You have not enough power to hold over me," she says with a derisive snort. "Begone, or I will have you killed."

"Very well," Richard says, drawing his axe from his belt and stepping towards the closer of the two wolves.

The wolf darts to the side, and Richard moves to follow, but sidesteps and turns instead, chopping at the wolf that had closed on him from behind. The axe blade bites deep in its shoulder, and Richard twists as it stays in the wound, the other wolf leaping at him. The wolf lands on his shield, dragging his arm down with it. He releases the axe and pulls his gladius from his back, thrusting over the shield into the wolf's neck.

The beast howls and falls to the side, the point of the blade sticking out of the other side. The first wolf has jumped away, and Richard crouches low as the wolf growls at him, edging away. In the distance he hears more howls.

"Mangy cat," the giantess says, stepping towards him, but pauses when she sees the shield wall of his comrades emerge from the gulley.

Suddenly, the magic wave hits and he gasps at the sudden sensation as colors and scents are more vibrant, his power fuller in his veins. The wolf shrieks now, the enchanted axe frosting and freezing the hot blooded wolf. Richard glances at the gulley, now cut off from him by a set of wards, a red colored wall a few yards high. Shit.

"I will kill you, and my wolves will kill your friends," the giantess says, pulling an axe from her back.

"Your friends came to my land," Richard states, still wanting information.

"They were supposed to kill your Url, not chase the moon," the red skinned giant growls as she swipes at him. He takes a glancing blow on the shield, and the edge splinters from the impact, flames flaring from the axe.

"They were sent against the village," Richard says, guessing so from her statement and diving to the side as she swings at him again, the path of the axe trailing fire.

"The fool paid a lot of silver, and the chance to expand was just too tempting," she says with a dark chuckle.

The last strike takes half the shield with it in a small explosion, and he tosses the remains aside as he scrambles back towards a dead wolf.

"I have his sons with me," Richard says, and the giantess pauses, glancing at the group who has formed a shield wall facing away from the wards, fighting a pack of the dark wolves while the shaman tries to take down the ward.

"They will pay handsomely for that," she muses, then glances back at Richard, a curious look to her brow. "Why tell me this?"

"Who are they?" he asks, sitting with his back on the carcass of the wolf, seemingly at her mercy.

She studies him for a moment, then shrugs, "The undead, they came and paid for me to war with the Norsemen. My men got lost along the way."

"Thank you for your cooperation," he says, standing fluidly, the frost enchanted axe in his hand now.

She strikes at him, but he parries the blow and runs the blade head of his own axe up the shaft and into her hands, and she shrieks in pain. She stumbles back, having left the axe, as she cradles her right hand to her chest.

Richard advances, and she pulls a dagger with her left hand, roaring and spitting a line of fire at him. He ducks to the side, but the fire catches his cloak as he does. He closes the distance and chops at her knee though, and she topples to the side. He ducks the backhanded attack from her dagger, and backswings the spike into her chest, shoving her back as he does.

She topples back, grasping her chest as she screams, but he chops down and decapitates her, ending her cries of agony. He pulls off the cloak and discards it, thrusting his axe back into his belt and retrieving his sword from the other dead wolf's body. He arrives at the ward, his skin tingling from the magic as he watches the shaman try to pull it down.

There were ten in the group when he left, and three more have fallen, then a fourth even as he watches. Tasha is firing methodically with the crossbow, each shot exploding and wounding a wolf with it. Alex has his shoulder behind a shield in the wall, shoving a long knife over the edge, alternating below and above as he watches.

Ragnar's two sons are obvious, though Floki is still firing arrows, his brother in the line with a sword and shield in hand. The magic in front of him crescendos, and he staggers back as though from a physical blow as the ward breaks, and the shaman falls to his hands and knees. Richard collects himself and leaps to the edge of the shield wall, then past it after a glance at the field.

He wades in, gladius in one hand and frost axe in the other, swinging and thrusting through the mass of coarse fur as he advances. The ragged cheer erupts from the party and their energy renews as they slowly slog forward as well against the enemy. Richard breaks through the pack on the far side and turns, looking at the group now, and the remaining wolves. The last three are running into the night, the dead and wounded left on the field. He takes a quick count and guesses near twenty.

He squats down for a moment, assessing as he looks at it all. Two months ago, he'd have struggled with two, now he was able to wade in on a dozen with no fear. He glances at his armor, notes that it is scored and cut in dozens of places, and he has scratches and shallow punctures as well. He can feel them throbbing with pain now, as the high of combat fades, but the adrenaline is sharper now than before. He needs to remember that.

"Are you okay?" Tasha asks, picking her way to him, her crossbow ready.

"Taking stock," he says, standing again. "What was the breakage in the line?"

"Four more dead," she says with a nod to the group as they walk among the wolves, finishing them off. "Minor cuts and injuries for the others."

"You?" he asks, a hand on her shoulder and bringing her gaze back to his.

She smirks, "Not a scratch. I feel almost useless."

"Good news, then," he says with a smile of his own. "The house is warded, too. That's you."

She sighs theatrically, then turns and heads to the house, shouting for the two sons of Ragnar to come with her. They trot after her, and Richard can see that Floki has two quivers, not just the one, his brother must have given up the arrows, realizing Floki was a better shot.

Richard helps the rest of the men organize the dead, friend and foe alike, and make a pile of wolf bodies to the side. They don't have special properties, but the heads will make good trophies and decorations for the halls in their village, and the furs will be good for trade or use. As they finish up, and Richard is mentally figuring out the plan to get the bodies back to his place, a pulse of magic comes from the house, and he looks to where Tasha is at the threshold of the house.

She tumbles to the side from where she had been sitting, but Floki's brother has immediately placed his shield between her and the open doorway. As he does that, Floki has his bow ready and aiming within, then drags her away from the open door. He arrives and checks her, strong pulse and breathing, just drained from breaking the ward. He nods to Alex next to him, then at Floki and his brother, then leads them into the house.

No other traps are in the building, and twenty minutes later they exit from a general inspection of the property to gather in the front of the walkway, Tasha and the Shaman both awake now, though both weak and tired.

"It will take a day or so to search and catalogue," Richard says with a thoughtful frown, addressing the group. "Seven survivors, and death benefits for those we lost," he says solidly, to which they all nod, no one begrudges those they fought with. "I will work out a share division, and with Horl's approval, that will be the cut from the raid."

The shaman nods in agreement, "We should send a runner back, to tell the village."

"Tomorrow," Richard says with a shake of his head. "Ragnar expected us to be a few days, they will not worry. Tonight we catalogue and organize, tomorrow, we start trips back to my property. The country between here and the village is unknown and unsecured. We will use the same path that brought us here, as the magic has been conjuring things."

He gestures to the small castle behind him with the last, to which they all nod agreement, and they set about their tasks.

Richard sits on the front bench of the wagon as they ride onto the back cleared area of his property. The last of the loot from the giantess' castle is in the back, this being their forth and hopefully last trip to his house. As he crests the small dip in the terrain to see his house, he notes with mixed feelings that he can pick out Noel sitting on his back picnic table and four other shapeshifters from Clan Heavy around the barn. Two seem to be working, the other two obviously watching the approaches and being general guards.

Further from them is Url Ragnar and a small group from the Neo-Vikings, keeping distance from the shapeshifters, but watching. Richard can sense the tension from here.

He hops from the bench as he arrives at Ragnar and grips his hand in his own, gripping his shoulder as well, "You heard, we lost six."

"Yes," Ragnar says with a frown and a nod, but shakes his head. "It is the way of things, we fight, take risks, and some die. Did they fight well?"

"Every one," Richard says with emphasis. "They earned their places in the hall."

"Good," he says with a nod, then smiles. "And both my sons survived, and were blooded."

"Yes," he agrees with a smile, walking with Ragnar to where they are gathering the spoils to split. "Floki was excellent as an archer, his aim was steady, even in the heat of the fight."

"And Jark held the shield solidly, I am told," Ragnar adds with a nod of his own to one of the other men from the group that already came back. "This was good, for the both of us. But now, what of the castle, and land left behind?"

"It was on property you owned, but twisted by magic," Richard says. "Because I am Pack and you are Norse, the Law is not involved. It is between us."

"I have no wish to expand to damaged land," Ragnar says with a shake of his head. "We cannot farm or hunt well there, and we will lose people to keep it safe. It is a border to Jotunheim and Meiflheim."

Richard thinks of it for a long moment, glancing in Noel's direction, and sees the slightest of nods from the older were-bear, overhearing the conversation despite the distance.

"Give me the land," he suggests. "I can protect that border, as I have young wolves and cats in need of experience against others."

Ragnar looks at him slyly from the side, then glances at where Noel sits forty yards away, seemingly oblivious. He looks back at Richard, then nods agreement.

"Bring a map, we will discuss the boundary, and the price," Ragnar says with a nearly mocking smile, as is his habit when in a good mood. "Land is never free…"

"As it is the only thing they are not making any more of," Richard says, completing Ragnar's favorite saying.

Richard nearly collapses onto the seat on his picnic table, where Noel is sitting on the table itself, his feet on the bench. Haggling with a Viking over land sucked, and he has no wish to repeat the process anytime soon.

"Good deal," Noel says simply, reaching over and handing Richard a glass bottle of some amber liquid.

Richard smells it, quirks an eyebrow then takes a sip, coughing for a moment, "What is this?"

"Jameson and a touch of sweet tea," Noel says with a chuckle. "You're low on calories, and you would have to chug that solid to get drunk. Nice dealing with the Neo-Vikings, that is a sizable chunk of land, and a castle to boot."

"I think we should build it up, make it bigger," Richard says, taking a full swig of the concoction in his hand. "Eventually make it a stronghold for the whole Clan, maybe the Pack."

"One step at a time," Noel chides him with a shake of his head. "You got a good profit from the raid, land for us to work on, and I'll get some Clan crews up to help with clearing a road and converting the castle. We'll see what we'll do when we are closer to finishing that."

"And reinforcement here," Richard adds, pointing to the area. "I want to put in palisades and ditches."

"Expecting an army?" Noel asks with a snort.

"Giants at the least," he confirms with a nod.

Noel nods agreement after a moment, "This might just be the start we need."

"I read a little about Curran, that Alpha in Atlanta," he says with a slow nod of his own. "He did it different, but I don't know if that way would work for us anyway. But we're working that way, I think."

"So we now have land and a small castle that has borders to two giant kingdoms," Noel muses aloud.

"And it was started by the People," Richard adds very quietly, glancing around. "The giantess said she was hired by undead to attack Ragnar's village, but her people got lost and wandered here instead."

"That's… interesting," Noel says thoughtfully with a frown.

"And really shitty," Richard says with another swig of the liquor, the warm burn sliding down his throat. "I have about an hour to clean up, at least a little, then I'm heading to Ragnar's for a feast. Instructions?"

"I need you tomorrow, to work some Clan things," he says with a nod. "I'll have it sent to Hoffman's. It may take a couple days of work, but not as bad as it'll look up front, chew on it, you'll understand."

"Yes, sir," Richard says with a nod as he stands, leaving after Noel dismisses him.

Richard strides into the front office of Hoffman's and pauses, taking in a deep breath, enjoying the day. He takes his cup of tea from Kate, and tilts his head to the side as he lists names.

"Wolf Alphas are here, the usual work crews, three scents from Heavy and two others I don't recognize," he says, leaning over and taking a sip of his tea.

"The Alphas are in the second floor conference room with Alex, it looks like they may be mad at him or you, not sure which," she says quietly, then hands him a folder with a sheaf of papers in it. "Alex said to glance through that before talking to the Alphas, didn't say what it is."

Richard opens it and scans the contents, finding a set of pages with formal writing, like from a manual. He checks the corners and realizes why it is familiar, it is the Pack law. He scans the titles, then reads the highlighted sections, flipping through the stapled packet.

"Clever cat," he mutters to himself, closing the folder and looking at Kate again. "What else?"

"You have the body shop appointment this afternoon, it's the only time that worked with the schedule, since word came you'll be doing Clan business for a couple days after today," she says with an empathetic grimace. "Binder is on your desk."

Richard growls in general, reaching over and taking a large hunk of summer sausage she has cut up on a plate on the desk for her much on. He nods and walks off as he chews, tea in one hand and folder under an arm. He calls to one of the employees as he passes, telling him to have their mail clerk and errand guy grab him ten pizzas for lunch, meat lovers, extra thick, with five gallons of grape and orange juice, mixed.

He leaves his empty mug in the break room as he passes it, and walks into the second floor conference room, the table for eight nearly full with occupants. He recognizes a number of them, the Wolf Alphas, Alex, their son, Tim, and another were-wolf he doesn't know who stands to the back, an enforcer or guard from his stance. Across from them sits the Heavy Clan's Beta, second in command, flanked by two others from the clan and a one against the wall. Matching the faces to the scents lets his memories click into place, and he solidifies that the Wolf Clan and Heavy Clan are about to do some negotiating and arranging.

"Richard, thank you for joining us," the Clan Heavy Beta says, standing.

He is a large, tanned man, with wide shoulders and long lustrous hair the hangs in two braided tails down his back. His features are classically Native American, and he stands erect and proud, umoving, just as his animal shape of a buffalo would suggest. Despite that, he is not dressed in furs and leather, but a tailored three piece suit of charcoal color and pinstripes of a cream color, in what looks like soft wool.

"Joseph Runner," Richard says with a respectful bow, lower in the Clan hierarchy than the Beta. "It is my honor to host a discussion among members of the Pack."

"The Alpha sent word we were coming, but not for what," Joseph says, gesturing to the chair at his side. "The topic was kept from us by the Wolf Clan," he waves to the Alpha couple across from them with a flat tone.

The door to the conference room closes, and as the soundproofed door closes, the Wolf Alphas shift poses subtly, Thomas Domasca leaning forward with his hands folded on the table.

"Clan Heavy has acquired land and assets quickly, since Richard Michaels was brought into their Clan," Thomas says simply, stating a fact and not a question. "My wife and I are grateful for the experience being offered to our son while working here, at Hoffman Resources. But we are also aware of other dealings with those outside the Pack," he says, looking at Richard as he says the last.

"The Neo-Vikings owned the land the trespassers came from," he replies reasonably. "I could not retaliate without their knowing, and possibly taking offense. By bargaining with them, I gained goodwill, potential future allies, and a foundation for future dealings."

"A shapeshifter raiding party would have been more efficient, fewer casualties," Alex says from next to Mrs. Domasca, his tone slightly questioning.

Thomas only glances again at Richard, apparently approving of the comment, and he responds to it, "It would have telegraphed our capabilities too well. We are viewed as emotion driven monsters, men who turn into beasts. The smart men out there know better, but have little proof of it."

"You speak of smart men," Mrs. Domasca says, raising an eyebrow and glancing about the room. "I am not a shapeshifter, and I am more than equal to an average shifter. Others are not as willing to cooperate and play nice."

"That is why we are speaking," Thomas says with a nod at Richard, then at Joseph. "It was a Clan action, taken without permission from the Pack."

"There was no time," Joseph says solidly. "If you wish to discuss it with the Pack Alpha, bring it to the council of Alphas."

"We do not," Mrs. Domasca says with a shake of her head. "But we do wish to be included with the next step, the acquired land."

"It is owned by a member of Clan Heavy," Joseph says solidly.

"Who is a member of the entire Pack," Thomas says with an expansive gesture for everyone in the room. "I do not want to fight over details. I want us to be included."

Richard pauses in thought and turns to Joseph with a quirked eyebrow, waiting for his lead.

"It is too early for us to tell for certain," Joseph says blankly, ensuring he gets a nod from the other man. "We have implemented some call up and collection methods for tech and magic waves. And we're breaking down our Clan further, into Families, as applicable. We have a Nimble Family with our quicker brothers in it, a Pride for our lions, a herd for our hooved members, a Rend family for our bears and others."

"We sketched out the beginnings as I was buying my property," Richard says, continuing at Joseph's urging. "We've been looking at ways of doing a call up practice without disturbing the public, the authorities, or other forces."

"Not just a heavy hitter, are you?" Theresa asks with a raised eyebrow.

"As you know, ma'am," he says politely to her and the room at large. "I was a human for most of my life. I volunteered to fight those I knew were stronger, faster and more durable than I. I did well in the Army, then was making good money at the Guild."

"We want in," Thomas says simply, pointing at Richard. "I have tasted what your business is like, here with Hoffman's, and this will work as well."

"We have a condition," Joseph says after a long pause, his voice even and hard.

Thomas narrows his eyes, "What is it?"

"You convince the Jackals and Hyenas to come fully into the fold," he says simply. "Their participation in the Pack is tenuous at best. We must have them in completely in order for this to work properly. And when they come, they adopt our ways as well," he gestures to the wolves as well as his side of the table to include them all in the concept of 'our ways'.

Thomas purses his lips in thought, "This will take time to plan and prepare an offer to them. They are meticulous with business and are professionals, in the main."

"The Pack Lord has already drafted the initial Constitution, he has simply been waiting for the other Clans to be ready to play ball," Joseph says flatly, to which the wolves bristle.

"You manipulated us," Thomas growls, though Theresa remains leaning back, looking carefully at Richard.

"You cannot force someone to drink," Richard disagrees with a shake of his head, glancing from the two alphas and the beta. "I showed you all that there is another way, a better way, and that it works. It is working. There will be problems, but that's why we have leaders, alphas, to fix problems and make this work. We are far stronger as a Pack, than as individuals."

"And our enemies are far less forgiving or inviting," Theresa agrees, setting a hand on her husband's arm. "They are cruel, dark and evil. Whereas you, you are family, kindred spirits."

"Precisely," Richard says with a nod.

"We shall think on it," Thomas says, rising, signaling the end of the meeting, and the Wolf side of the table leaves.

After they leave, Joseph turns to Richard fully, "I do not think they will budge. We have tried in the past."

"They will come," Richard says with a shake of his head, looking down as he disagrees. "Theresa will convince him of it. She sees the merits of organizing and pooling our strengths and weaknesses. I think my methods and background is what is giving her he leverage she needs."

"How long, then?" Joseph asks, looking at where the Alphas and the others from their clan departed.

"A couple weeks," Richard says with a sigh. "Next full moon, I'd guess. They'll pressure Jackal, then if Heavy and Pack do the same, by next moon's council we can force the restructure. I'd suggest we throw them a bone, though, to keep them focused."

"Let them help with the Serai?" he asks, referring the name Richard had given the castle of giant.

"As a clan, and I can have Hoffman's look into contracting Jackal and Bouda members to help for pay," he says. "Later, they can trade the pay for ownership, or something. That's above my pay grade, for the decision, but we can definitely work in a pay at completion clause. I'm Pack, and am reliable for the payment either way."

"I shall bring it to Noel," Joseph says with a firm nod and extends his hand to Richard. "I am glad that you are on our side, Richard Michaels."

Richard grasps it in a warrior's grip, "Thank you, Joseph. That means a lot to me."

"These men are backup for your upcoming tasks for the Clan," Joseph says, reaching out and accepting a folder from the heavyset man standing by the wall, having pulled the folder from his messenger bag on the floor.

Richard accepts the folder in turn, but waits to look at it as Joseph continues, "When you finish, come see Noel at his dealership. In between, you and they all have my numbers and the number for the Pack medmage if needed."

Richard nods respectfully as Joseph leaves, then glances at the group of muscle and wonders what the job is.

"Is there another job here I don't know about?" Richard asks the lean man sitting across from him.

Richard is sitting at the conference table with three other shapeshifters from Clan Heavy, and two from Wolf, Alex and Tim, who are on the far end of the table. The man across from him is in a light blue t-shirt with a faded pepsi sign on it, with dark chocolate colored skin, and a body that bespoke hours in the gym lifting weights. The other two with him are variations on the same theme, though one is white with a shaved head and thick brown eyebrows, the other with slicked back hair and Hispanic features. They are each five ten, and heavy, even in human form.

"I don't understand, sir," the black man, Adam, says, frowning as he eats the pizza that had arrived.

"I can do this job with one other person, I don't need five plus me," he says as he sets the folder on the table. "What's the catch?"

"Last time we went, it didn't take," Adam says with a shrug, looking at the others with him. "I was lead, they backed me up."

"What did you say, exactly?" he asks, now feeling where this is going.

"We told them they were in our territory and that they had to either join or leave, we'd be back for an answer in a few days," Adam says with a frown and a shrug. "Went back yesterday, and Hermano here took a blast of buckshot."

The latino pulls up his darker blue t-shirt, showing the fading scar and bruise of where he'd healed gross tissue damage.

"The rest of us pulled back, and the police were coming, and Alpha's orders were to not get police involved," he says with a shrug, unrepentant, but also oblivious.

Richard rubs his forehead hard as he calmly collects his thoughts and focuses his anger into a cage in his mind. Adam starts to speak, but Richard holds up his hand for silence, unknowingly duplicated by Alex down the table who is watching him with a careful expression.

"I am trying really hard not slap you around and hurt you with this folder," Richard says with a forced sigh of patience, setting the contents of said folder to the side as he places the empty folder in front of him.

Adam looks at it in confusion, "I don't understand."

"That fact that you, all of you, are sincere in your ignorance is the only reason I think that Noel hasn't killed you yet," he says as he slowly takes the folder and begins to carefully and precisely roll it up.

"But— "

"I did not give you permission to speak, understand?" Richard asks, pausing and looking at Adam, his eyes flashing gold.

Everyone in the room suddenly become far more silent and still as the color and flash of power lingers for a moment. It is the moment when a person standing in a cage with an animal suddenly realizes that the furry thing in the corner is actually a live tiger, and that they stand not a chance if it decides they should die today.

"You were sent to extend an invitation, yes or no?" Richard asks, his voice precise as he pauses in rolling the folder, it now a tube held gently but firmly beneath his fingertips.

"Yes, sir," Adam says solidly.

"What were Joseph's exact words?" he asks, his eyes boring into Adam's. "Take a few deep breaths before you answer. I don't want any mistakes."

After a pair of breaths, he answers, "He said, 'Adam, there are some were-leopards that moved in on the south side, immigrants from…' I don't remember where from," Adam says after pausing in the middle of the recitation.

"Ireland, Adam, continue," Richard says, nodding, but a muscle in his jaw twitching.

" 'From Ireland. Go tell them about the Pack, and invite them into the Clan,' " he says, sweat forming on his head, nervous as he is unsure what is going to happen.

"Invite them," Richard says with a sigh, picking up the rolled folder. "Not intimidate, not bully. Invite. Do you understand the difference?"

"Yes, executioner," Adam says in a quieter tone, his own mind involuntarily replaying the fights he had seen Richard in where he had earned the title.

"No, you do not," Richard corrects, then raises his hand and hammer strikes his fist into the other man's shoulder after grabbing him by the wrist and jerking the arm to the side.

The folder has formed a cylinder and Richard's strike hammers it into the crease in Adam's shoulder. Adam swings at Richard in reflex, but Richard has swayed out of the way of the wild swing and kicks his chair out from under him, splaying Adam on the floor. None of the other shapeshifters have moved, eerily still as Adam lies on the ground with the tip of the cone the folder was wrapped into sticking from his shoulder, bleeding. Richard stands over him, and Adam rolls from his side to his back, exposing his stomach and throat submissively.

"I was a human for thirty years before I shifted for the first time," Richard says, looking down at Adam, exposed and waiting on the ground. "Some say that means I was weak. I disagree. It taught me the value of pain. Temporary pain is teaching tool, a reminder for next time. Adam, what did you learn today?"

"Invite does not mean what I think it means," he says with forced stoicism.

"Do you want to make that mistake again?" he asks.

"No, sir."

"Why not?" Richard asks with a curious tone.

"The next time, the punishment will likely be worse," Adam says with a nod of understanding.

"Not my preferred method of instruction, as both Alex and Tim with both attest," he says, waving at the two younger men at the back of the table, sharing a pizza of their own. "Get up and stop bleeding on my floor."

"For twelve years, I was a soldier, an Army Ranger, a mercenary and Texas Ranger," Richard says, taking his seat and sliding a fresh piece of pizza to where Adam resumes his seat, the puncture in his shoulder already knitting closed. "I fought and killed things bigger, stronger and faster. I was able to do that, because I was smarter. I'm not asking you to be rocket scientists, but I expect you to be able to follow instructions, and if you don't know what it means, ask."

"Doing it wrong because you didn't ask gets you a much worse punishment than asking before you do something stupid," Alex says with a very serious look at the other men. "I know."

"You are all leopards, right?" Richard asks, his own mental recall getting better as he associates certain scents with specific types of animals.

"Yes, sir," they all say, nodding.

"So you all used to work for Danny, doing what?" he asks.

Adam frowns, rubbing his shoulder for a moment before answering, "Bill's folks own a gym on the south side, near the docks. Used by the immigrants when they come from wherever. We all lift there, work there sometimes. Danny would use us as bouncers or enforcers."

"Thugs," Richard says with a frown and a shake of his head. "You work for Joseph, and you work for me, now. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," they say with a nod, knowing but fully understanding now.

Richard sighs and thinks for a moment, "I want to use you, so you can see what right looks like, but that would be bad for you as a group, and set a bad precedent for others. Hermano, you will come with me and Tim," he gestures to the wolf at the end of the table.

"While I am gone, clean up this mess," Richard says with a wave at the floor and the small puddle of blood. "Also, consider yourself on retainer with me."

Adam opens his mouth to ask a question but Richard waves him to silence, "I know you don't know what that means. Alex is a smart kid, he's going to help you two fill out job applications, then you will go out to my property and start on the next phase of improvements."

"You got the okay?" Alex asks with excitement, leaning forward at the other end of the table.

"For my property, yes," he says with a nod. "I need to iron out some details for the rest, but get started." He looks at Adam solidly as he speaks again, "Alex is in charge of you if I am not here. You will follow his orders as though I gave them, unless someone higher than me in the Clan or Pack gives counter orders. Understand?"

"He's Wolf Clan, but was Cat," Adam says, uncertain, but nods. "But I understand. He's a bit small to be alpha, though, isn't he?"

"He helped me kill two dozen giant demonic wolves and four giant, man-eating snakes a few days ago," Richard says with a snort. "Good with a knife but needs work with his shield skills."

"Shields are easy," the white guy, Bill, says with a snort. "If you want, we can practice with him some, boss. My dad was big on the crusader era stuff."

"If you have time," Richard says with a glance at Alex who nods understanding. "Alright, let's get things done. I am going to the body shop now, and when I'm done I'll head to the address for this family. Tim, you are with me, when the rest of you have finished your paperwork, get to the rest, Hermano, meet us at the Arch."

"Aye, boss," he says with a Hispanic accent and a definite nod, knowing the reference to the entrance to the immigrant quarter.

Tim picks up a box of pizza and jug of juice and walks after Richard, who has left the conference room to head to his next job. There's a pregnant pause in the room once he leaves, and Adam glances at Alex, who has stood up and takes the seat Richard had been in a moment ago.

"I thought you were submissive," Adam says, a statement, as he still feels dominant to Alex.

"If I were, I'd still be someone's bitch," Alex says with a simple frown, a statement in return.

Adam blinks and thinks for a moment as Alex passes out stapled forms.

"You're working for him," Adam says, as if that explains it.

"And now you work for me," Alex says, an edge creeping into his voice as a flash of orange light hits his eyes. "Let me reiterate, or repeat, what he said a moment ago. He works for the beta, I work for him, and right now, you work for me. I am not submissive."

Adam looks at him as though seeing him for the first time, leaning back, "You really killed some demon dogs and giant snakes?"

"Nearly five feet at the shoulder, thick hides and burning saliva, no shit," Alex says with a confirming nod. "Mr. Michaels killed one snake on his own, assisted killing another, killed half of all the demon dogs on his own, and killed the giantess that was their master."

"When did this happen?" Will asks, surprised and leaning forward.

"Two days ago, or so," Alex says with a nod. "We fought with the Neo-Vikings. That was what they were talking about."

"We were told to come and back them up," Will says with a shrug. "I don't know about stuff at that level."

"Don't gossip, but make sure you have an understanding of what is going on with the tasks and jobs you are given," he says firmly, meeting Adam's eyes.

Adam hesitates, unsure, but looks down in submission, "I understand."

"Good," Alex says, standing and moving to the slightly open area, shifting chairs out of the way. "Now we're going to have a quick bout, so we can get rid of the tension."

"What?" Adam asks, things moving quicker and differently than he had expected.

"We're going to fight, for one minute, no longer," Alex says simply, having cleared an area to the side about eight feet by seven. "No shapechanging. It will only stop early if one of us is knocked unconscious or submits. Do you understand?"

Adam blinks in thought, then nods, "Yes, I understand."

Alex stands relaxed on his toes and watches as Adam stands up, looming though not taller than Alex. Adam raises his hands and advances, on his toes and a standard fighting stance taught to anyone with sense. Adam swings, and Alex dips back, pushing one the arm and throwing him off balance. Adam stumbles into the wall, but Alex has not advanced, shifting instead to the opposite side of where they had started.

Adam is more cautious this time and swings a kick in. Alex takes the shot to his side, but clamps his arm over the leg, elbowing down hard just above the knee. Adam jerks and falls, trying to do an impromptu kick with his other leg but failing. Alex shifts around as Adam stands again, then comes at Alex in a rush.

Alex ducks then dips to the side, and shoves Adam into the wall, hard. He follows him with a fist to his kidneys then an elbow into his lower back and hip. Adam arcs his back in reaction to the pain in his back and leg, like fire. Alex steps back, still light on his feet, but breathing deep.

"You aren't being precise with your strikes," Alex says with a shake of his head as Adam is shaking off the pain. "Your shots are wild, powerful but wild. That kick to my side should have shattered ribs, not winded me."

"Time," Will says quietly from the table.

"Now we fill out the forms, then you three clean up this conference room," Alex says, turning to address the group as he adjusts his polo shirt and khakis to a neat appearance. "When that's finished, we'll see how much time we have before Hermano needs to leave, and try to get you guys up to speed on a few things Mr. Michaels will likely want you to help him with."

"Will… will we be janitors?" Hermano asks a bit timidly, Adam was a better fighter than him, and Alex's actions had surprised them all.

"No," Alex says with a shake of his head, gesturing to the papers, which they start to fill out with pens provided. "Think of him like the senior uncle of an extended family. He wants his kids and nephews to do well, not suck. He is not like Danny, far from it."

"We can tell," Will says with a nod.

"You said your dad owns a gym?" Alex asks, pulling his own notepad and pen together and taking notes.

"Yeah, Rocky's Temple," Will says with a smile.

"Is it capable of letting shapeshifters train there? And if so, how many?" Alex asks while taking notes and talking with the three new hires as they fill out the paperwork, then clean up the mess of the conference room.

Richard rides down the street in the dual engine Humvee, Tim driving, as they leave the body shop towards their link up with Hermano. The check on the shop was good, and the books were pretty accurate, though there was a petty cash issue. One of the lower sales heads had been using it as a bank and slush fund for unauthorized items and services. A little shaking up and a couple weeks of a close eye should fix the issue.

"Your parents didn't come out and say it, and neither have you, but you want to learn about Clan and Pack politics, right?" he asks, glancing at Tim.

He nods in response, still watching the road, "Yes. Father is good, smart and has earned his place, he is a fair Alpha. But mother says that there are other subtleties to learn, if we are to be able to work outside the Pack."

"She's right," Richard agrees, nodding. "I don't know the Pack or Clan as well as others, but I understand people, and I know how to manage."

"But we're not people," Tim says, glancing at Richard before returning his eyes to the road.

"I disagree," Richard says with a shrug. "We, shapeshifters, only exist because of humans. And it's humans who have the power in the world. Our belief, faith, and blood, gives us magic and power. Our minds, cleverness and wisdom gave us technology and mastery over magic."

"What about the animals we become? Loups?" Tim asks with a curious tone, not challenging.

"I was a normal man for thirty years, almost no magic in my blood," Richard says with a scowl as he watches their surroundings. "I tell you as someone who can feel the difference in the world before and after, it is the man in us that makes us monsters. But it is also what gives us the potential to be much more than beasts and killers."

Tim thinks on that for a long moment, "That is why you pray."

"I've seen men with no magic or power, who were absolute monsters in the worst sense of the word," Richard says with a frown. "Our humanity makes us able to be smarter, better than other magic beasts. We have a nobility because of our humanity."

"Then what are Loups?" Tim asks, wondering what his reason is.

"Our humanity drunk on power," Richard says with a frown. "Humans are weaker and less resilient than other apes and monkeys. As weak creatures we know the value of strength, that is why we force the discipline, because if we don't, then we are bullies and monsters."

"I am surprised you did not kill Danny," he says after a pause. "I heard of the fight after. You could have, and no one would have faulted you."

"That is not my way," Richard says simply, looking at the side streets, and Tim remains silent, sensing the end of the conversation.

Richard exits the Humvee in a collared shirt, a dark green in color with a dark brown leather vest over it, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his muscular forearms. He leaves his hat in the car, but with the tech up, he has a 1911 in a holster on his hip and a few knives on his person. He debates for a long moment, then pulls the tactical gladius from the back and clips it to his hip.

Tim has circled around with Hermano having hopped out of the back. Hermano is in a light green t-shirt with a mountain dew sign on it, jeans and boots. Tim is dressed in an unbuttoned collared shirt like Richard, but without a vest and in slacks compared to Richard's jeans.

"Tim, be polite and quote chapter and verse if asked," he says as they walk towards the flat apartment. "Hermano, look apologetic and sorry. If you give one iota of smugness or insubordination I will show you why Danny doesn't fuck with me, despite us being in the same Clan."

Richard pauses, glancing down the street at an old ruined building and scanning the windows and roof.

"Something wrong?" Tim asks, looking the opposite way to ensure the whole perimeter is checked, a habit his father drilled into him.

"Someone is watching," he says simply, then walks up the stairs and knocks politely on the door.

"You have five seconds to get off my porch or I will shoot you," a muffled shout comes from the other side of the door, accented English.

"Sir," Richard says in a normal voice, knowing the were-leopard can hear him through the door, and raising his Texas Ranger badge in front of the door's peephole. "My name is Richard Michaels. I work with the Texas Rangers and would like to speak with you about an incident that occurred here the other day."

A moment passes, and then the door unlocks, and opens a touch, and the scents from inside reach Richard. Five people, two parents, three children, two boys one girl, the girl is oldest, and the scent of cheap meat and cooking also reaches his nose. The exchange is two way and the door opens fully, a man with a pump action shotgun standing on the threshold.

"You are a shapeshifter?" the man asks. He is wearing a dirty work shirt from a mechanic shop, and his eyes are skeptical.

"I am Richard Michaels, a Mercenary with the Guild here in Houston, and a part time deputy with the Texas Rangers," Richard says again, aiming for pleasant, but knowing that the best he can be is reassuring. "Your name, sir?"

"I am Atticus Sochim," he says with a furrowed brow. "I do not entirely understand. You are police?"

"I am here from the Pack, the organization of shapeshifters here in the city and area," he says simply, his posture and expression unchanged.

"I will not pay," Atticus replies angrily.

"There is a misunderstanding, you understand that there has been a mistake," Richard says with his hands raised, as if to fend off the shotgun.

"What?"

"You think we are like the mob, or gangs, or the IRA, I think?" Richard asks, and Atticus reluctantly nods. "We are not. We are Pack, a Clan, a family. My clan, is Clan Heavy. We help each other, like a family."

"Clans, like the olde times?" Atticus asks with a dawning understanding.

"Aye," Richard agrees with a nod, his speech falling into the patterns of the other man.

Atticus blinks and realizes he's holding a gun, and he sets it to the side beside the door. Then he pats his shirt, and straightens.

"I am sorry, I did not know they did such things in America," he says awkwardly.

"I understand that you did not know, and that is forgiven," he says with a smile, nodding and waving at Hermano. "I have one of my people who came earlier who is in part responsible for the miscommunication."

"I am sorry, sir," Hermano says with a solemn nod at Richard's gesture. "My friends and I were wrong and stupid. I apologize."

"I was young once," Atticus says with a smirk, his dark blond hair streaked with gray that is a finger's length long. "I am sorry I shot you."

"I am glad you missed," Hermano says with a bit of a smirk.

"He wasn't trying to kill you," Richard says before Atticus can respond, the older man's mouth open. "If he had, he would have pumped the silver round into the chamber and aimed for your hips."

Atticus narrows his eyes at Richard and bows deep, to a forty five degree angle, "I don't know your customs or titles, sir."

"I am third highest ranking in my Clan, one of three in the local Pack," Richard says simply. "May we come in and talk?"

"Please," Atticus says with another bow and ushers the three men in.

He shows them to the sitting room which has no TV, but walls full of books, old and dog eared, on makeshift shelves of boards and plywood, hammered or stapled together. Tim and Hermano sit on a loveseat together, and Richard sits in the only cushioned chair, the other two seats fold out camping chairs. A low coffee table made of cinder blocks and a cheap mosaic painted piece of wood, celtic engravings and writing scattered across the bare wood.

"A moment, sir," Atticus says quickly then hurries off to the back part of the house, speaking to the rest of his family in a language Richards doesn't understand.

"Hermano, do you know how to be a lookout?" Richard asks in a soft murmur, quiet enough to not be an open conversation, and perhaps lost to the others in the other rooms, despite enhanced shapeshifter hearing.

"I came from the barrio," he says with a nod. "Never got pinched, but I know what to look for."

"Go hang out by the front door and keep an eye and ear open to the front," he says with a toss of his head. "One knock on the wall means quiet and listen, two is that you need to tell me something, three is scatter."

"Got it, boss," he says, standing and walking out the door.

Richard and Tim rearrange themselves quickly and quietly with the seating, placing them so he and Tim are in the fold out chairs across the table from the couch. Atticus and shorter, stout woman with red hair and gray peppered in it follows him. They hesitate at the change of seating, but they both sit in the couch, setting the tray with tea in front of them. As the woman goes about making the tea, Richard studies them both.

Atticus is wiry, thin but not emaciated, with a sharp nose, not quite hooked, but close. His finger length hair is likely bowl cut, but greasy, as though he doesn't wash it much. His eyes are sharp, watching, and with slight wrinkles at the edges, laugh lines he would guess. The woman is not as thin, and also seems to be in her late forties or early fifties, but with a rounded face that should have a bit more flesh to it to be healthy. She has faded freckles on her nose and cheeks and hazel eyes, and laugh wrinkles like her husband's.

"Mr. and Mrs. Sochim, thank you for inviting me into your home," Richard says pleasantly, though the other couple doesn't ease their tension level. "I cannot change the past, what happened here, or where you came from. All I can tell you is what I would like to do to help you and your family, by making you part of mine."

Atticus glances nervously at his wife, then back at Richard, "We have had promises before. They turned out to be wicked men."

Richard's eyes flash gold for a moment, but he is unmoving and stoic before speaking, the flash the only indication of emotion.

"I am not those men," Richard says with a touch of a sigh, sipping the tea, Tim doing likewise a moment later. "I cannot prove it without time. I know words will mean little to you."

Mrs. Sochim narrows her eyes at Richard, and speaks in the musical tongue Atticus had used earlier. Atticus grimaces but nods and speaks.

"She understands only a little bit of English, but she asks what you are? Are you a cat, like them?" he asks, gesturing to the small porch where Hermano is sitting. "Or wolf, like him?" he gestures at Tim with the second question.

"I am cat, tiger," Richard says with a solid look at her. "He is wolf, son to the Alphas from our Wolf Clan."

"Your Clans are friends?" Atticus asks, interested.

"We are Pack," Tim answers, sipping the tea. "We are stronger together than alone. Others fear us, though they do not need to, if we work together to keep the wicked few away and out of power."

"Tim works for me, and is learning," Richard says, gesturing to him. "We have laws to protect each other, within the Pack, and those not of the Pack. That was the invitation that was supposed to be extended."

"If we say no?" Mrs. Sochim asks haltingly, her posture slightly submissive and fearful, though Richard senses a core of strength beneath, a feeling more than observed.

"Then you must leave," Richard says simply with a shake of his head. "If you were to tell the government that you will not obey its laws, it is the same. We ask not just for your safety, but ours. If an accident were to happen, and one of your family were to lose control, a lot of innocent people could be hurt or killed."

"Very well, then," Atticus says with a weary sigh. "We will join the Pack, then."

"It is not as bad as all that, friend," Richard says with a genuine smile. "The rules are not so bad, not by far compared to others I have seen or had to endure. And beyond that, we take care of our own."

"Our own?" Mrs. Sochim asks brokenly, unsure.

"Our family, our clan," Tim says with a nod, an inquiring glance at Richard, who nods and leans back as Tim asks questions of the two immigrants.

The young wolf's polite questions pull out a lot of information, that they came from central Ireland, and that Atticus had worked with the IRA involuntarily for a time before they finally decided to leave the country. He scraped up the money to move over years, and grudgingly admitted he stole money at the end to pay for the last minute hike in the boat fees. Their three kids are all under twelve years, and they had two other births, though those both went Loup before age four. Atticus is a mechanic of both tech and magic engines, and Sandra, his wife, has no education past basic high school, though she cooks well.

Richard is listening through it all, and rises with a polite smile and wave for the others to continue talking as he walks to the front door, drawn there by two soft knocks on the wall. Richard steps out onto the small porch next to Hermano, who gestures down the street to a dual engine pickup truck down the street.

"Two guys, older fella with dirty blond hair got out and into the ruins, then back to the truck and pulled away, the a few minutes ago, pulled back up down there, same truck and plates," he says while still scanning the area.

"Good eye," Richard says, glancing around as well. "Probably a PD lookout at the ruins watching the building cuz you got shot and someone reported it. The two in the truck are Knights of the Order."

"Shit," he mutters, and Richard notes that the younger man is scanning for escape routes.

"You got good habits, Hermano," Richard says with a nod. "But pay attention, don't overreact and be patient. Understand?"

"I think," he admits with an unsure expression.

"We're about done," he says quietly. "When we leave, I'll walk to their truck, you guys drive off and tell the Pack everything that happened."

Richard returns to the house, and ten minutes later is heading down the middle of the street towards the truck with the two Knights. He doesn't get far from the house, though, as the truck had started moving the moment he and Tim exited the house. Richard jogs down the street, placing himself in the truck's path, and the two knights exit with guns drawn on him. Richard smiles with his hands extended over his head, the Humvee driving off behind him.

"Good evening, Knight Investigator Daniels," he says with a smile, his gunbelt with Tim.

"On your knees!" Daniels' partner barks, and Richard complies with the sharp instructions as he is cuffed and disarmed, though he has only a pair of knives and his tactical gladius.

"Do you have time to talk with me now, Michaels?" Daniels asks with derision dripping from his voice.

"Lawyer!" Richard shouts, though doesn't physically resist as they shove him into the back of the truck, shackling him to the rear bed, silver manacles fastened to his ankles.

"Shut up," Daniels' partner says in a low growl.

"LAWYER!" Richard yells, nearly a roar, heard by a number of people on the sidewalk and out front of their houses to watch the events.

The partner punches Richard in the hip, hard, with his steel reinforced gauntlet.

"Lawyer," he says again, loud though not a roar, looking at the man with undimmed eyes.

The man looks to hit him again, but Daniels grabs his shoulder and shoves him to the driver's side. A minute later Richard is enjoying a breeze as they drive to downtown Houston and the Headquarters of the Order of Knights of Merciful Aid.

"Lawyer," Richard says again from his steel chair in the center of the interrogation room as the only door begins to open.

The room is twelve feet by twelve feet, no table and just a chair bolted to the center where Richard is shackled to the floor. He knows from his own experience with the Order that this is a deliberate choice, they can mix and match the number of chairs and tables in the room, to include whether it's bolted down or not. There's no mirrored wall in the room as some places have, as this is specifically for extremely dangerous persons of interest, which would make glass a liability. The tech had crashed after he'd arrived at the Order, and after he'd be placed in his chair. Wards had flared up and the cameras went down with the return of magic, but the Order had plenty of access to magic and tech, so they're likely observing or recording this magically somehow, even if he doesn't know how.

He blinks as the Knight of Merciful Aid enters the room, the scent unfamiliar, though he recognizes the face and the step. Clad in worn-in black leather pants, and a matching, worn leather duster that falls to her knees, the female knight has wavy deep red hair, and dark green eyes. A face shaped between round and sharp, an athletic build and a maroon vest and shirt under the jacket, her hair is pulled back and braided into a single rope down her back.

"Richard Michaels, currently the CEO of Hoffman Resources, and Executioner for the Heavy Clan of the Houston Pack," she says in a clear cut tone with a hint of an accent that is almost german.

"Natalie Rushman, Knight of the Order, Master at Arms, Firearm," he says with a twitch in his jaw, cursing his luck. They would send her, "How did the advance course go?"

She pauses from where she had started to circle him, "Passed, Honor grad. When you go off the rails, you don't go halfway, do you? Crash and burn like a supernova."

"Anything worth doing and worth doing right," he responds with a slight growl as she continues to circle him, but he keeps his head and eyes forward.

"That's below the belt," she responds after a moment, his comment a personal joke between the two of them from before.

"Turnabout is fair play, Nat," he responds, glancing at her with his eyes only, a slight flash of gold when he says it.

She pauses in front of him, her hands behind her back, and looks down at him, taking a deep breath before speaking.

"Look, Rick, I have a job to do, and I hope you still remember what the Order is about," she says quietly, and he can hear the sincerity in her voice. "Clean slate?"

"For you, yes," he says softly with hooded eyes, then speaks in a louder voice to encompass ears he can't see. "I haven't been told why I have been detained. I was trussed up in public with no explanation and I did not provoke the Knight Investigator who supervised my detention."

"It was my understanding that you were asked to come in for questioning and were uncooperative," she says with an arched eyebrow.

He takes a deep breath and counts to ten before speaking again, "I will be blunt and only say this once, as a concession to you, and to Ranger Roberts who I am sure will hear of this. Knight Investigator Daniels and his partner trespassed on private property at my place of business and disrupted my work without invitation. They were disrespectful and confrontational in front of witnesses on private property they were not invited onto."

"When was this?" Natalie asks, her arms folded now and her brow furrowed as she studies Richard, who remains sitting and looking forward with a stony expression.

"Three days ago, Monday," he says. "Then today he and his partner approached myself and some friends. When I approached them they drew their weapons and detained me. I was given no reason, but I did cooperate. There were witnesses on the street."

She narrows her eyes at him, and he waits, knowing she's receiving a message from their resident telepath. It annoys the crap out of him, and unsettles him, but the guy had never intruded in his head that he knew of, so he doesn't complain. She leans against the wall, and glances at the door, and he settles in to wait, getting the hint that others are coming.

A few minutes pass, and then Chief Ranger Roberts walks in with the Knight Protector of the Houston Chapter of the Order. Roberts is missing his hat and weapons, his inch long brown red hair tinged with gray, and seeming to tower over the Knight Protector. The knight protector is just a hair over five foot, with deep chocolate brown hair, almond eyes and a stern expression on her sharp, ebony face. She wears a leather jacket and black denim jeans, though styled rather than off the shelf.

"Mr Michaels," the woman says, her tone firm but not emotional. "I am Knight Protector Reynolds."

"I would stand, ma'am, but…" he says with a slight shifting of his hands to indicate the manacles on his wrists and ankles which restrict movement.

"Rick," Roberts says in greeting with a sigh.

"I try to be polite, boss, but they throw their weight around and try to bully folks, it doesn't end well," Richard says in a simpler tone.

"There's multiple witnesses at both sites, Eve," Roberts says quietly.

The knight protector scowls then gestures at Richard, "Take those off of him, Rushman."

Richard waits patiently as the manacles are removed, then stands slowly but fully. He clasps his hands behind his back and turns to Roberts.

"Do you have any questions, boss?" he asks, an open display to them where his loyalties lie.

Roberts sighs, "What are you doing, Rick? You drop off the grid for days at a time."

"I was always a merc, chief. A loner with no family," Richard says with a crooked smile and shake of his head. "I turned into a shifter after the fight, and they embraced me like a long lost cousin. I can't tell you the details, you know that, because it isn't that different from the Rangers, or the Order."

He says the last to the two knights in the room who both bristle, and the Knight Protector scowls at him.

"You are worlds away from the Order," she says to him, and he can hear anger and scorn inching into her voice.

"I'm the same man you asked to transfer to the Order six months ago, Protector," he says with a frown at her, nearly spitting the last word. "I was a human with no magic capacity, and you all but begged me to come over."

"Now you're a monster," she says with a frown at him.

"I'm stronger, faster, and heal quick," he responds with a light chuckle. "What makes us do bad things are the human parts. If it weren't, then prior to magic coming back the world would have been full of saints and angels."

"We're getting off track, here," Roberts says, snapping them back onto him. "Rick, six men were found not far from your new property, dead and mutilated."

"How, and by what?" he asks, glancing from him to the knight protector.

"M scan shows undead, necromancy of some sort, but the bodies aren't cut up that way," Rushman says, drawing his attention as she pulls a sheet of paper from her jacket and hands it to him.

The m-scanner detected magic, showing type and intensity, with colors denoting origins, such as shapeshifter, human, divine, necromancy. This sheet showed some human magic tinged with divine, but a large streak of necromancy across it.

"That's… odd," he says with narrowed eyes. "What did the bodies look like?"

"Like wolves had been at them, but the bite marks are too big," the knight protector says, and Richard knows what she's hinting at.

"The Pack only hunts on the Pack property around the mansion," he says with a sigh. "And to be honest, I'm not a fan. I'd rather my steak be brought to me, cooked."

"The tooth marks show a spread too big for even the largest of natural wolves," Rushman says simply, stating facts, and he licks his lips in thought.

"I wasn't involved in the attack, and the scan doesn't reveal anything to me," he says with a shrug. "I hate to sound mercenary, but unless you want to hire me to find the killers, I don't know why you're telling me."

"The men who were murdered were your neighbors," Reynolds says with an edge.

Richard quirks an eyebrow, having guessed as much, but playing dumb, "You didn't say anything about who they were. And at the risk of sounding like a cold hearted bastard, why should I care?"

Reynolds clenches her jaw while Roberts sighs, knowing this is just him being himself, nothing special.

"They were Neo-Vikings," Rushman says with a cool tone, her eyes narrowed slightly as she watches Richard.

"So, to my west, then," he says in a questioning tone, then glances around at the others. "So am I being charged with something, being hired to solve something, or can I go now? I have a business to run and work to do."

Roberts looks solidly at Reynolds, putting the choice on her, and she clenches her jaw a few times in silence while glaring at Richard.

"I need to speak with the Chief Ranger," she says with a near growl. "Rushman, please outprocess Mr. Michaels and we will meet you both in the front waiting room."

Richard follows Natalie as she leads him down the hall to the armory door, where his gear is returned to him. He talks only business and keeps it short, wanting to wait until he's clear of the building to talk and think out his next step. With a telepath in the building, he is very wary, and is just reciting Shakespeare in his head.

Roberts and Reynolds come out to the front waiting area ten minutes after Richard takes a seat, sipping on a bottle of water. He stands and follows them to an office in the back, a general office from the look of it.

"The Order doesn't condone of the Guild or the activities of its members," Reynolds says as the door closes with the three of them inside, Rushman elsewhere.

"The Rangers, however, see that they can be useful," Roberts says with a smirk, having hitched a hip on the unused desk. "I have six dead bodies, no suspects, and the leads take the investigators to people who clam up at the barest hint of a badge."

"How much, and for what?" Richard asks, simple and to the point.

"Evidence that leads either to apprehension of suspects or neutralization of the parties responsible," Roberts says with a glance at Reynolds, who looks like she's bitten a lemon. "The Order hates Texas, but that's why we're our own country and held together, compared to the rest of the 'Union'," he says the last with finger quotes and a scowl at her.

"This isn't the wild west," she says with a scowl in return.

"If you've been to the outskirts of town, you might rethink that," Richard says before the Chief Ranger can. "The Indian Res to the south is in constant dispute, and weird shit pops up everywhere with no warning that will kill you quicker than you can ask 'What the fuck?'," he chuckles at the last part, the Chief joining him.

"Rick, it's my contract, not the Order's," Roberts says with a smile in his beard, speaking as though Reynolds isn't in the room. "At the least, standard bounty, eight kay minimum a head, more for specials. I'll have Billy write up a contract and send it to your offices. You have my word."

"Good enough for me, Chief," Richard says, shaking the man's solidly, then turning to leave.

"Rushman's your partner on this," Reynolds says. "No negotiation. We started the investigation and we have to close it, otherwise we'll dig further into Mr. Michaels' whereabouts during the time in question."

Richard pauses with his hand on the doorknob, takes a breath, and turns back to Reynolds, glancing at Roberts for a moment, who has tensed up. Richard reaches over and pulls the phonebook from the nearly empty shelf and grips in in his hands in front of him. While looking her in the eye and with no visible effort, he tears the two inch thick book in half at the binding, dropping the pieces on the ground. He turns and leaves, closing the door behind him with a metal tear. Reynolds clenches her jaw and goes to the door to follow, but the knob comes out in her hand.

"Eve," Roberts says with a sigh. "You can be really stupid sometimes. Man gives you an out, and you just spit in his face. Did you just completely brain dump his entire file?"

"He's a shapeshifter," she growls at him, thinking hard in the direction of the secretary to let them out of the office. "A were-leopard if our intel is right."

"He's still Rick, dammit," Roberts argues, sighing and hitching on the desk again. "You push him against his will, he'll fight back, if you aren't one of his people."

She sighs and pinches her nose, "The Norse Heritage Foundation is screaming for evidence against Url Ragnar. The People are pushing hard on the Order across the continent."

"And they're leaning hard on the civilian government, believe me, I know," he says with an empathetic nod. "But whether you want to admit it or not, this _is_ the wild west. Due process is a matter of what we can implement against proportionate crimes and offenders. That's civilization and the nature of our world, especially now. We've talked about this."

"I know," she says with a sigh. "Still doesn't mean I have to like trusting a loose cannon like Michaels to mete out justice on a whim."

"Better him than the People, or some of the other monsters we've met," he says quietly, to which she nods, then turns as the door is forced open from the outside.

Richard walks outside into the deep night of Houston, darker than before the shift, but still lit up with feylanters and fires for light, fending off the after midnight hour. He finds Natalie and Tim standing at opposite sides of the running magic engine of the Humvee. He pauses, taking a breath to assess the situation, but simply frowning at Tim. Stern badassness maintained, he walks to the driver's side, where Tim is standing.

"Sit in the back, I need to be able to talk with Knight Rushman," he says, to which Tim just nods and tosses him the keys.

Richard tilts his head to the side and Natalie joins him at the front of the vehicle and he talks in a lower voice.

"You're my partner for this," he says simply, to which she nods. "I can't tell you much about being a shapeshifter, and things are complicated in the Pack."

"They gave us a lot of briefs in the Order, and in our courses, I know more than you'd think," she says in a soothing tone, laying her hand on his shoulder consolingly.

He shifts uncomfortably, stepping away and from her reach, "It's not just that. I'm seeing someone."

"Ah," she says with a nod, her professional mask sliding into place. "Not a problem. I left, we made no promises, and we moved on."

"Look…"

"It's not a problem," she interrupts him with a smile and shake of her head, and he's not sure if that's good or bad and he has a sudden flash of the awkwardness that was high school. "People are dead, we have a job to do."

"Yes," he says with a nod, focusing on the task. "Hop in and I'll tell you what I can."

Richard drives them across town to the Mercenary Guild Headquarters, not saying much except that he has to stop by and pick up some gear. Tim confirms tersely that their order came in, having to shout over the sound of the magic engine roaring and nearly exploding like an avalanche. Extended conversation is out of the question with a magic engine running, and the three simply ride without talking, scanning the area as they travel.

"Tim," he says as they turn off the Humvee in the back lot. "Go pick up the gear, load and get the truck started, by the time you have it running I should be done with my shopping."

"What are you getting?" Natalie asks as they walk in the front of the Guild House into the main front hall.

"I need to restock some arrows, and see if I can grab some explosive heads, I have a feeling I'll need them, after glancing at your m-scan," he says with a grimace.

"I have a 'go-bag' in a locker in the armory," she says with a nod. "I'll go grab it, then help your minion with the truck. We can synch up after."

"His name is Tim," Richard says with a frown.

"I know, but I think it's funny that you have a sidekick," she says with a smirk. "You were never the type."

"I have a staff, three employees that could be called intern protégés and I have done plenty of ops with other Mercs," he says a bit defensively as the walk down the hall to the armory and weapons shop.

"I stand corrected, not a sidekick, minions, plural," she says with a chuckle, ribbing him.

"Nat," he says with a chuckle of his own, shaking his head, then doing a double take as they pass a cross hall. "I'll catch up at the Humvee," he says, turning back and walking down the hall they'd passed.

He strides down the hall to where Ragnar sits with his two sons in plastic formica seats that are bolted together. The sight is odd, considering they are wearing period leather and light wool clothing and weapons for Norsemen while sitting in plastic chairs in a concrete and stone hall with linoleum on the floor.

"Ragnar," Richard says with a smile as he approaches.

Ragnar opens his eyes, as he had been slouching in his seat with his legs locked and extended far in front of him with his eyes closed as he waits.

"Richard Tigerskin," Ragnar says, shaking hands with him. "I am here to register my sons with the Guild. How are things?"

"They are progressing," Richard says with an odd twist of his head. "Can I borrow you for a few minutes, to talk?"

Ragnar frowns, glancing at the counter across the room and the rows of other mercs waiting in line for the Admin section.

"It will be another ten or twenty minutes until they call us up," he says, motioning his sons to stay as he and Richard walk over to where a small kitchenette is off to the side.

Richard and Ragnar glare at the two other mercs sitting in the room waiting, and they move with a grimace, but no argument. When a shapeshifter and a Viking silently ask you to leave, you leave.

"I've been given a contract by the Texas Rangers," he says quietly, trying to keep the conversation between the two of them. "Investigation and bounty on those who killed six men near my property."

Ragnar chews on this mentally for a moment, glancing out in the main room, then at Richard directly, "My hunting party was six men, and they never returned."

"It sounds like it was your party," Richard says with a nod. "When I have my evidence and perp, I'll make sure you're the first to know, and have a chance to offer support."

"Thank you, friend," Ragnar says with a solemn nod, placing his hand on Richard's shoulder, squeezing it as he continues to process the information.

"What can you tell me about where they were supposed to go? Who the party leader was?" Richard asks, watching Ragnar's face and paying attention to his scent.

"They were going to range south and west, after the mule deer in the forested area," Ragnar says with a frown. "Dagnif was solid and unassuming. He was a good shot and patient hunter, but bad under stress. It is why he kept to hunting, the magic only spat out things that could kill us once in a while out here, and he always had young lads in the parties that could handle it."

"So no enemies?" he asks, to clarify.

"Drunk brawls from time to time, but nothing to kill him and the party over," he says with a shake of his head. "How were they killed?"

"Not sure, I haven't seen the scene, but," he pauses before asking the next question, checking the area again to make sure they are clear before asking in an even lower tone. "What kind of undead do the Norse believe in?"

Ragnar frowns, thinking, then says in a quieter tone, "The einherjar are great warriors who have gone to the hall and will fight on Ragnarok. And there is a creature call Dvurger, they are fallen warriors who come back and eat those who betrayed them. But it takes a great betrayal."

"How great?" Richard asks, trying to figure it out.

"Legendary," Ragnar says with a frown and a shrug in his hushed tone. "I know of only two or three in all time."

"Thank you, Ragnar, I will send word when I find out," Richard says with a pat on the other man's shoulder, then goes to the weapons shop to get his needed arrows.

Richard walks out of the side door of the Guild with a sack over his shoulder, his mind lost in thought. He's interrupted by Natalie as she hops down from the low stone wall separating the parking lot from the stairs.

"What's up?" she asks, hands on her hips and square off on him. "You went to talk with Url Ragnar without much warning."

"Tone it down a notch, Nat," he says with a frown at her, sitting down the sack and pointing to the spot next to him while he watches where Tim is chanting over the magic engine in the Humvee. "I trust you, but not the folks you work for. You know that."

"Damnit, Rick, we're the Order," she says with an expansive wave, leaning on a sign across from him, not sitting as indicated. "We're the good guys."

"You're organized humans with varied abilities that do good, in the main," Richard says carefully. "That doesn't mean you are all good guys."

"Wow, paranoid much?" she asks, frowning at him and crossing her arms.

"I was hassled at work and your co-workers, the people you just called good guys, bullied me in front of my employees for no good reason," he says firmly. "Then they detained me without a warrant or charges or an explanation of any sort, assaulting me and disrespecting me in front of dozens of witnesses, without provocation. Those are the good guys?"

She sighs and closes her eyes, unable to argue, and clenching her jaw in frustration.

"Get off the high horse and pay attention, Nat," he says in a softer tone. "You're smarter than that. Do you know what a dvuger is?"

She looks up and blinks at him, dredging her mind, "Norse, I think. Why?"

"I need an expert on Norse mythology," he says. "All the ones I know are on the Order's suspect list."

"Not on yours?" she asks, eyebrow arched.

"For this particular crime, no," he says with a shake of his head. "You know how a good investigator goes about it. I'm not that good, I follow hunches, but that's because they usually pan out."

"Make a list of suspects, gather data, see where it points, don't look for a bad guy, let the evidence show you," she says with a nod. "But you have evidence or testimony I don't have access to, that's why your suspect list is different."

"And I won't give it to you," he says with a shake of his head. "Suspects you have?"

"The Vikings, the People and the Pack," she says simply. "That's if this isn't a random attack from something left behind from a magic wave."

"My participation leans heavy against you having evidence against the Pack," he says, not even asking if they have any. "The m-scan showed necromancy and human divine. The combination could mean Viking gods with necromantic powers, the People working with humans with divine powers, or necromancers, and the victims were the ones with human divine powers."

"Daniels got his ass chewed for your detention and harassment," Nat says with a sigh. "The m-scan clears you, he was supposed to ask if you knew anyone in the area well enough to help liaise with the Vikings."

"I think it's a combination of something from Viking myth spat out by a magic wave, and maybe the People, but the last is just a sketchy hunch," he says with a shrug. "So, do you have a line on a Norse expert?"

"I think so," she says with a sigh. "I gave a call ahead, left a message. It's late, or early depending on your perspective, we can stop by, see if we can catch him."

"Let's go give it a swing, then I'm done for the day," he says, pushing off the wall. "I've been up for a while and had a rough couple of days."

"Yeah," she says with a tired nod of her own. "I've had a long day myself."

"We're stopping somewhere to grab food," he says as they head to the humvee that is running now. "I burn a lot more calories now, and barely hold weight if I hit all three meals."

"And you always hated eating," she says with a chuckle. "Drive up ribs on Omaha drive, it's on the way."

"They open this early?" he asks, pulling out his pocket watch, a mechanically wound oddity that he has to adjust by a few minutes once in a while, but surprisingly works most of the time during the magic waves.

"They switched to around the clock service, when the shapeshifters started getting hooked on their sauce," she says as they approach the roaring vehicle and climbing in.

Richard is finishing his third bbq pulled pork monster sub when they pull into the parking spot in front of a narrow business front, one of nearly a dozen storefronts, two story brick buildings filling both sides of the street. He wipes his hands with a wet nap, tossing the dirty napkin into a trash bin to the side. He hops out of the passenger side of the Humvee, and motions Tim to stay.

"Eat," he says, waving at the bag with more food in it, Tim having driven while he and Natalie ate. "We'll talk with the specialist. Keep it running, we'll be back."

Tim nods and leans back in the seat, taking a break from driving, training and reading reports.

Richard pauses and lets Natalie take lead, this being her source, not his. He follows her in, his hands loosely at his side. He has his gladius across his back and his frost axe on his right hip, his kurki on his left. He holds the door open for Natalie, and he welcomes the hush of the building compared to the noise from the Humvee's screaming engine.

The little bells over the door jingle as they enter, and Richard pauses as he enters, scenting the front room. There is a glass case to one side and back with jewelry and items, with shelves behind with books and larger items. They are an odd assortment of tribal and simple relics and magical items. The smell is earthy, thick with leather and some herbs he associates with native American and Norse traditions.

But there's another smell, a feel to the air he can't quantify or describe. Oily, cloying, and though not rotting, a feel of it.

"There's something here," he says softly, his eyes flashing as he focuses on the surroundings more.

"What?" she asks, not magically inclined.

"I've never sensed it before, and I'm constantly adding to the list," he says quietly. "But it's not natural, and feels wrong."

"Oily, slick and cloying?" she says, stiffening slightly as she says it.

"What is it?" he asks, sensing her unease and his own beast coiling within him in reaction to another who senses danger.

"Vampires, undead," she says, pulling her sword from her hip, a long bladed spatha, its design like a gladius only longer in length.

Richard steps in front of her, drawing his kurki, and speaks in a low, soft voice, "I heal broke bones in less than a day and anything short of a vital organ hit I practically shrug off."

"Okay, so you got upgraded," she mutters softly, letting him take lead.

He creeps forward, feeling the temperature drop as he walks towards the back of the shop. He walks to the back of the shop, and only now realizes that the magic wards on the shop's door were broken, torn down before they got here. He pauses at the stairwell, but continues past the one leading down to the stairs up and the second floor.

He glances back at Nat, and she nods in permission. He eases up the stairs silently, waving a hand at Nat with four fingers, indicating he has four scents. He pauses halfway up the stairs, tilting his head as he listens. Only one person breathing, wheezing.

"Where iiissss iiiit?" a raspy hiss asks, on the far side of the building, and he eases into the second floor hall, facing the room with the sound of movement and the voice.

"I- I don't know- what you're talking about," the wheezing man says, strain in his voice.

"Liessss…." The hiss says, and then the sound of a wind enters the last room in the building, fronting the street.

Richard tip toes down the hall, glancing over his shoulder then kicking the door down and rushing into the room. He takes it in quickly, the width of the building, twelve feet deep and twelve across, a small couch and chair, with four figures in the room. Three are dark with bluish skin, white/gray hair and mismatched armor of a Viking, though they are emaciated and sits askew. One is holding up a fourth figure against the far wall to the right, pinning him with his hand.

The dead looking Viking is sucking a pale bluish mist from the man he has pinned, and Richard instinctively throws his kurki. The blade spins and connects with his target, the dead Viking's wrist. The wrist snaps but the hand stays on the man's neck and the dead continues to suck the life from him. The other two figures turn to Richard, who has stormed the closest and slams his forearms into the creature's chest, throwing him through the window behind it.

Nat is fighting the other one, and Richard turns to the one sucking the life from the man. He pulls his axe and chops solidly into its knee, and the creature topples to the side, but the leg stays connected. It turns, amazingly fast and he barely reacts in time to block with his left arm as it swings at him from that side. The dagger in its hand punches through his thick leather gauntlet and out the opposite side. The attack is so vicious and with such power that the cross guard snaps the bones with its impact.

His training saves him through the pain, as he cuts up and slams the axe head into the creature's chin, the shock jarring it, and he follows through with a one handed chop across at its neck at close quarters. It reaches up and blocks the axe shaft with his handless arm as he cuts into the undead flesh, and the creature punches him in the chest, having let go of the dagger in his arm.

Richard flies back from the blow, his air exploding out of him, and he dents the drywall on the far side of the room with his impact. He catches a glimpse of Nat, her long spatha pinning the other creature to the wall as she has another short sword out, trying to thrust into its heart. The creature Richard is fighting pauses from advancing on him and wails at him, then turns into a heavy mist and vanishes out the window, his companion doing the same. A moment later, the magic crashes and technology rules the world again.

Richard takes a deep breath and draws the dagger out of his arm, clenching his teeth at the pain. He stands and walks to Nat, who is slumping against the wall, holding her side.

"You okay?" he asks, clenching his injured arm, his ribs throbbing.

"Fucker was fast," she says with a grimace, sliding to the floor.

Richard immediately zeroes in on the blood stain she left on the wall, and immediately picks her up.

"Tim, start the truck!" he yells, walking to the window and hopping out, landing on the sidewalk in front of the shop.

Tim is out of the Humvee and in the street, running from where a car is dented heavily and he is in warrior form, a hybrid of a wolf and monster.

"Shit," Richard says, realizing he would have to drive, treat and call for help on his own, the werewolf would be useless. "Guard, stay out of the way," he says, trotting to the rear of the vehicle.

He pulls out Nat's go-bag, pulling out treatment gear, and starts treating her injury. She was cut high across the shoulder, and on the outer thigh, both are long gashes six inches long, wide and deep.

"Keep pressure on that," he says, holding her uninjured hand to the cut leg, putting pressure on the shoulder as he ties the bandage in place, as he turns and sees someone walking down the street.

"Help!" he shouts loudly. "I'm a Texas Ranger, and I have a casualty."

A couple out for an early jog stop in their run and head to him. He shouts a short explanation, that the werewolf is a good guy working for the Rangers, and a magic beast attacked his partner, they need an ambulance.

"Hold on, Nat," he says quietly as he gently keeps pressure on her wound, while holding his own left arm to the side, away from her.

"What happened to your arm?" she asks, her voice weak, and he can see she is aiming for a distraction.

"The fucker stuck me with a knife, broke the bone, I think," he says, dismissing the wound despite the pain.

"Rick, I'm sorry I didn't call, or leave a letter, or something," she says with a wince, turning away from him.

"You are going to be fine," Richard says, turning her face to him. "I need you to focus and stop whining. The paramedics and your buddies from the Order will be here soon, and you need to be awake for them."

"Trying to keep me out of shock," she says with a nod, trying to straighten and blinking her eyes to focus herself.

"I don't know what you're talking about, I just don't want to talk to any of those pricks you work with," he says with a smirk, and she chuckles at that. "Explaining all this without a witness from the Order would be a bitch."

"Figures, merc," she says with a smile and a laugh.

"Pig," he replies, smiling as he says it, and she laughs a bit again, though she is paler.

"I am sorry, Rick," she says seriously, but focused, not drifting as she had earlier. "I should have contacted you."

"Water under the bridge, what's done is done," he says with a shrug. "I'm still Rick, you're still Nat."

"Yes, we are," she says with a nod as the male jogger comes over to help, and puts pressure on her wounds.

Richard directs them on tending her, then goes about mending his own arm.

Richard walks into the front door of his house, physically drained and exhausted. Thank god he kept cold cut meat in the back of the Humvee with rolls in case of emergencies, he was hungry again as his body kicked up his healing ability to deal with the broken bone and damaged flesh. He'd been stuck at the scene for another two hours, and fortunately his mention of the Texas Rangers got Deputy Davis, the man he'd been on the ship mission with, to come to the scene with his partner. That had made things go smoother.

From there he'd declined any medical attention, having already set his two broken bones and patching his arm. He just needs a little time and food and he'll be good. So he stands in his doorway with blood on his clothes, a stench of undead on him, and ready for a shower, meat and bed, when Tasha turns the corner down the hall from the kitchen.

He closes his eyes and lifts his chin slightly as he savors the scent in the house. Chocolate brownies, which he's not normally a fan of, but mixed with the smell of chocolate is Tasha. He savors that smell as it gets stronger, and when he opens his eyes, a pair of breaths later, she is arm's reach away and scowling at him.

"Why do you reek of another woman?" she asks, her jaw clenching as she glowers at him from under her eyebrows.

"Because I was with a woman?" he asks in response, and immediately regrets it.

"What?" she growls at him, her eyes flashing gold for a moment, and she shifts her stance to an even more aggressive posture, looking ready to lunge at him.

He sighs, closing his eyes for a moment before speaking, "I had a really bad day…yesterday, today?" He tries to figure out which day, then just waves it off, "I worked at the office, had a meeting with the Wolf Alphas and our Beta, took care of a Clan application, was arrested and placed in solitary confinement for seven hours or so, strong armed into helping the Order and Rangers find a murderer, and got attacked while following up a lead."

She narrows her eyes at him, lowering her voice, "Whose blood is that?"

"Some is mine, most is from the partner the Order saddled me with, and a bit is from the undead thing I was fighting, I think," he says, then glances past her. "Why are you baking?"

"I bake when I'm stressed out," she says with a return growl, focusing on the point of her anger. "I heard through the Pack channels about you being detained by the Order, and then seen at the Guild house with a pretty red head in leather. Conspiring with her, I think is the term used."

He clenches his own jaw in frustration, rubbing his forehead absently, the weapons belt in his hand dangling.

"Tasha, I love you and I am tired," he says patiently. "I did not mean to worry you, and as I realize you have made this your den for the time being, may I clean up, eat and relax?"

She clenches her jaw and steps forward, slugging him in the abs, hard. He had seen it, however, and clenched appropriately, taking the hit without a word or sound.

"I started with lasagna, then moved on to brownies and cookies, I'll warm up food for you," she says, turning away from him back to the kitchen.

Tasha pauses in the kitchen, eyes narrowed at the lasagna she'd packaged up as leftovers, her mind elsewhere. He called this her den, as though she lived here, as though she has a claim to his place. That's… odd, and has meaning to shapeshifters, and to her personally. She's unsure what to do about it, if anything, as he doesn't see a problem, but then again, it's a human female scent, and half the population was female, working with them is inevitable. Hell, she's female.

She goes about setting the table as she listens to him put his gear away and hop in the shower. She is a nearly Alpha Lion in her Pride, and as she continues to see Richard, she continues to see him as hers, and hers alone. But he's still mostly human, in thought, even if his spirit is tiger, so he hasn't figured out what his beast wants.

Richard walks into the kitchen in light sweatpants and a tank top, barefoot, and cleaned up from the shower, smelling good. He tears into the food she's already set out, and she sits next to him, nibbling on a cookie as he eats without pausing, sipping his beer as he goes. He pauses as he finishes loading his plate for a second helping and hands her a large ziplock bag, a four inch long knife in it.

"Police evidence? You know just what a girl wants," she says sarcastically, peering at the dagger with a critical eye.

"That stabbed me through the forearm, and broke it, through leather gauntlets," he says as he continues to eat. "It's all I have on the lead, without access to the scene, where they left a severed hand."

"Why did they leave it?" she asks, looking at him with her piercing look, she knows he can't resist it.

"I chopped it off, that's why," he says with a smirk at her, to which she quietly gives him an "aha" expression.

"You want my help?" she asks, setting down the dagger on the table to the side, still in the bag.

"Please," he replies, pausing and pushing out his bottom lip. The expression fits him as well as it does on a normal tiger, not at all.

She chuckles, "What's the backstory?"

"Six of Ragnar's people were killed near the main road, some sort of necromancy and human divine magic are involved," he says with a shrug. "The Chief Ranger offered me the case as a bounty. I got a lead on a type of Norse undead, and when we went to talk to an expert, they were there. Undead Vikings."

She purses her lips, thinking, "I don't know the legends well enough, but the dagger has a maker's mark, and it's old, five hundred years or more. A master smith might be able to ID it."

"Do you think Yun would know?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"I would bet on it," she says, picking up the dagger, then sighing. "Give me a flat fee, five hundred for everything I dig up. I will probably have it back by the time you wake up."

"Are we good?" he asks as she stands up from the table, taking off an apron he didn't know he had in the house.

She leans over and grips the side of his head with one hand possessively, "I think I mentioned before, _mine_."

She kisses him quickly but fiercely, and strides out the back door to her horse to go earn some money.

Richard wakes with a start, and he narrows his eyes at the slanted light of afternoon. He'd fallen asleep mid-morning, he thinks. He walks out to the kitchen and then the back porch, looking around at the activity in his back yard as work is done on his property.

Alex had started the contracting and work on the improvements Richard wants to his property, another barn, though smaller, for his gym and connected to the side of the house by a walkway. A storm cellar, deeper and more complex than before, is being added, as well as a subterranean level to the barn, and connected to the one at the house. Two small firms are hired to do it with contractors from the were-rats in town, one firm that is a subsidiary of Hoffman's and the other independent.

Both firms are run and owned by vetted people, however, and are only in on the basic layout, not the additions a third firm is being hired to do, this one owned and operated by a were-rat from the Wolf Clan. A wooden, two-story world war two era, barracks building rounds out the improvements, with one exception.

The exception is a ditch, palisade and curtain wall erected around the entire property, reminding Richard of an old army fort from the American west, though it is based on a Roman fort. This is being worked on steadily by members of Clan Heavy and Clan Wolf, the simple manual labor easy and fast work for shapeshifters. He nods as he looks at the progress, sipping on his beer and walking outside the house around to where the gym is at.

Will and Adam are there, his were-leopards, and they nod respectfully to him as he approaches and they continue to work. They are unloading a rental truck, basic weightlifting and simple martial arts equipment being unloaded. After he checks the manifest, he nods to himself and returns to his kitchen, where he finds a thick manila envelope with the dagger and some paper in it.

Thirty minutes later he is walking out the front of his house, where Alex is waiting next to the Humvee, dressed in jeans, a blue t-shirt, black leather vest and a pair of fighting knives on him. Richard catches the keys tossed to him and jumps in, handing the envelope to Alex.

"Read up," he instructs. "And whose Humvee is this, I've seen everyone drive it, but no one's said who it belongs to. Is it on loan?"

"Noel sent it to you for use," Alex says, pausing to look at Richard as the engine revs and they pull out of the drive. "It's meant to be a gift, if you like it."

"It needs some mods, but yeah, having both engines available and no horse is nice," he says with a nod. "What does that packet tell you?"

"Dagger was made in Norway, by a smith that also was a shipbuilder," he says, glancing through the pages. "Around 850 AD, which places the period as after the Norse started raiding England."

"Dvurger are created by great betrayals, and powerful, though as with any magical creature, some things are constant but many things differ from type to type," he says out loud, Alex nodding at his line of thought.

"Says here they are not able to be controlled, that they often violate bargains, if you can manage to strike one with it," Alex says, still reading. "Between that and the timeframe, it's within the realm of possibility that an old dvurger woke up with a magic wave and… what?"

"Viking is not a noun, it's a verb," Richard says, throwing out a clue to his protégé. "Chew on that a while. I scanned the whole file, and I can't figure out how to kill it, but I have some ideas on how to find it," Richard says with a frustrated growl. "He was fast, healed almost instantly, and fought well, like his reflexes remained."

"So not pushover zombies, then?" Alex says with a sigh.

"No," Richard says with a shake of his head. "I sent a runner to Ragnar to meet us in town at the Guild hall tonight, that I may have info so we can negotiate."

"You think you will?" Alex asks, looking at his boss and mentor with curiosity.

"I have a plan now, just not answers," he replies with a wry grimace.

Shortly, Richard pulls into the parking lot next to the city headquarters for the Order, turns off the Humvee and walks inside with Alex just behind him. He enters the office and strides up to the front, a tight smile on his face as he approaches the man at the front desk.

"I'm working a case with Natalie Rushman," he says directly. "She was hospitalized, who picked up the case?"

"The Knight Protector said you would be in, Mr. Michaels," the man says with a frown of distaste, an entry level knight. "Knight Investigator Daniels picked up the case until Knight Rushman returns. She was discharged, but hasn't been in yet."

"Thank you, may I see the Knight Investigator?" he asks politely.

"He is extremely busy, if you may have a seat," the knight says, indicating the simple benches and chairs in a waiting room.

"Sorry, people are dead and I don't have time for his power plays," Richard says with a sigh. "I have a solid line on the origins, I think I know where they're going next. If he wants to help stop more people dying, let him know I'm on the way to the Merc Guild."

As they walk to the Humvee, the magic wave crashes into the world, and Richard pauses to take a deep breath, the scents more distinct, colors more vibrant and detailed, sounds clearer and more detailed. He waves at Alex, who begins to chant over the vehicle to get the magic engine started. Richard waits in the passenger's side, and looks up as the front door of the Order opens, depositing Daniels and his angry looking partner onto the sidewalk.

They approach him, and Richards walks towards them, file left in the vehicle. They meet at the edge of the parking lot, and Daniels frowns heavily at Richard, jabbing his finger at him.

"You got Rushman hospitalized," he accuses him, and Richard just stands relaxed in front of him, axe on his hip, gladius on his back. "You rushed in without backup and a man is dead."

Richard waits to see if there is anything else forthcoming, then says, "She took us to her expert. They were already there, sucking the life out of him. My question to you is; how many people in town have been killed in the last week in a similar fashion?"

Daniels blinks, frowning in thought as he processes the question. His partner openly scowls and starts to say something, but Daniels raises a hand, the man just glares.

"Two," Daniels says, looking at Richard with thought. "Pawn shops, not bottom level, and they both dealt with gold turn in."

"What was stolen?" Richard asks, tilting his head to the side.

"Gold, jewelry, the usual valuables," he says with a dismissive shrug.

"How much?" he asks, putting pieces together.

"All of it," the man behind Daniels says in a deep voice, thinking himself now.

"You think they're connected?" Daniels asks him, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Suspect," he says with a nod. "Bring the m-scans and inventories to the guild, I'm- " he pauses before finishing, the warmth of the air disappearing and his breath a vapor.

He turns and looks to the south, where the canal to the bay and harbor is, and the direction of the cold wave. A heavy fog has rolled in from the water, and has now reached them, bringing cold with it, and half a block away three figures walk down the center of the street. The three undead Vikings stride towards Richard and the Knights, their skin pale, hair lank and decaying, and their eyes a bright, glowing green.

"That's not good," Daniels says from next to him, pulling his crossbow from his shoulder.

"Alex, bow," Richard says simply, turning and striding to the edge of the parking lot, to the edge of the wards erected around the Order's property.

The fog eels through the ward with a shiver, seeping the heat from the air, but that is all. The three undead stop ten paces from the ward and look at it with curiosity and confusion.

"Let us pass," the one in the center says, the one that had sucked the man's life from him.

"Why are you here?" Richard demands, his voice hard and all three heads snap their attention on him.

_That's it, look at me, ignore the sharpshooters taking up positions_, he thinks to himself.

"I come to reap and plunder," he says with an exhalation of mist. "Return to me what is mine."

Richard holds up the dagger, pulled from his pocket, "This you mean."

The center undead hisses at him, "Return it."

"Fuck. Off," Richard says blandly, returning the dagger to his side.

The undead lunge forward and slam into the ward, which flickers and shudders against the attack. Richard takes a step back and draws his gladius, the cold axe seeming inappropriate against a monster of cold. The wards shudder and flicker, and Richard can feel the power pushed into the shield, a brute power attack.

"If they bring it down, we're vulnerable for the rest of the wave," Daniels says, his crossbow up and pointed at the undead.

"Shit," Richard snarls, handing the dagger to Daniels. "Hold this, I'm going out."

He runs to the side, sheathing his sword then leaps onto an outcropping ledge on the Order's building, he hoists himself up and scrambles up two stories, then leaps over the ward, landing to the side and behind where the undead are trying to breach. He pulls out his throwing knives, four inch blades of heavy steel with a balanced handle, able to be used to hammer nails. He throws the three in quick succession, two at the left undead, then one at the center.

The attack on the ward halts and the three creatures turn to them, their leader with a knife handle sticking out of his back. The leader reaches up with his right hand, his left still missing, and pulls it out, then deliberately looks at the blade.

"Fair trade?" he asks with an evil chuckle.

"Fuck, No," Richard replies, pulling his gladius back out and attacking, pulling a long dagger from his belt.

He feints at the leader and rolls left, rising to a crouch and cutting in front of himself low and hitting the undead in the knees. The gladius digs deep in the first joint, and the long dagger severs into it behind the kneecap. Richard stays low, twisting as he keeps the blade in the knees, severing the gristly tendons and the lower leg falls free before it can heal the damage.

Richard thrusts the dagger up and into the creature's back, into its heart, but it ignores the damage and stabs at him over its shoulder. Richard feels the long sword in its hand scrape against his vest, and he twists at the last moment as the leader has swung at him with an axe, taking the blow on the reinforced leather armor on his shoulder. Richard drops the dagger and falls to the ground, rolling and scooping up the severed leg with him.

He shuffles back from the creatures, who turn to him, but are slow to pursue, the leader pausing to take stock of his damaged partner. The creature missing a leg rolls to a sitting position, and barks an angry word at Richard, sounding like some sort of Slavic word.

He glances at the severed leg in his hand, the foot still twisting. He drops it and pulls out a plastic flask from his vest, dumps the contents on the leg then tosses his lit zippo on it. The leg bursts into flames, and the wounded creature howls in pain and spasms on the ground, then starts frantically crawling towards Richard.

Richard dives and rolls to the side, barely avoiding the leader as it has closed the distance and attacked at an amazing speed. He rises and parries the axe attack, then another, the creature fast but not fast or skilled enough to best him when he knows what he is facing.

Richard turns and parries the attack of the other standing creature who is now attacking him. Richard can barely fend them both off, and the air begins to get colder. The magic they had used on the ward is returning to them, they are regaining their strength. As he realizes this the two creatures begin to grow in size, now six and a half feet tall, then seven, now eight.

He leaps to the side as the now large battle axe crashes into a parked car, sending a tire flying into a neighboring window. Richard dives at the one bearing the sword and up under and around the knee, then leaves the sword in, buried half way through. He twists and dodges the sword attack as he pulls his own axe out, then strikes the gladius' sword handle hard. The knee explodes and the ten foot tall undead leans to the side, catching its balance on a lightpole.

Richard hefts the leg onto the remains of the one that is already burning and the flames now low. The crippled undead howls in anger and roars at the night. A moment later a chorus of howls joins it, and the hair on Richard's neck prickles.

Down the street from the origin of the fog comes a herd of giant wolves, the same demon dogs he'd fought at the giantess'. Their coats are slightly different color, a paler gray, but undeniably the same species. Richard takes a breath, then sighs, tossing his axe to the side, then stripping off his vest and tossing it on top of it. The two undead have finished growing, stopping at twelve feet tall, and the leader approaches Richard with his giant axe.

"Fresh meat," the monster says.

"I am no one's meat!" Richard roars at the undead creature, and leaps at its face.

He begins the leap as a man, but a large enraged tiger lands on the undead's shoulders, bearing it down to the ground. Richards doesn't stop and claw and gouge, though his beast wants him to, but turns and runs at the swarm of wolves approaching.

They pause as he runs down the street, realizing his size and that he is different, powerful. That only makes it more satisfying as Richard tears into them. He shifts from fighting and attacking on four legs to two, rising up to throw a wolf into another or to twist and lash out with his powerful hind legs. They nip and bite at him as he fights, his claws and teeth rending and gashing bloody rents through them and tearing legs off.

He can hear fighting from where he had come from, the Order has reacted to the giant undead on their doorstep. His actions have bought them the time to mobilize, and he is keeping the wolves at bay to allow them to focus on the other threats. Time loses its meaning for a while, as he tears apart the pack of demonic creatures, until there are no more to fight.

He pauses in the carnage, ruined bodies on the ground around him, bite marks marring his own hide. Cars left on the street are covered in blood and gore, and Richard realizes that the mist and fog have left, the air isn't as cold. He turns and strides down the street on four feet, his head held low and predatory as he approaches the ward surrounding the Order.

One of the undead creatures is burning, the small one that Richard had crippled early. The other two are gone, though the leg is still burning with the rest of the remains. Richard slows to a prowl as he closes the distance and studies the seven knights standing in the street outside the Order. Daniels and his partner are there, and surprisingly, so is Natalie. He stops next to his vest and stands next to the small pile as the knights stare at him at in a combination of shock and disbelief.

Daniels approaches warily, his sword still out, and Nat beside him. Her face is a stoic mask, the slightly wide eyes the only thing betraying the fact that she is shocked completely absent of words. Alex steps from behind them, bow and quiver slung over his shoulders, and some clothing in hand from the Humvee.

Richard rises up onto two feet and sheds his fur, his perspective shrinking back to that of a man and his senses dulling, though still far more than a human's. He stands naked, covered in blood and gore, and bite marks and tears marking his legs, arms and shoulders. He accepts the towel from Alex, wiping down his legs, then pulling on a pair of brown sweatpants. Most of the knights have looked away in embarrassment, realizing it's a naked man rubbing his body and getting dressed.

Daniels simply looks at him with derision, "You brought monsters to our doorstep."

"You're welcome," he replies, rubbing off his chest and arms, then pulling on another white t-shirt.

"What?" Daniels asks, incredulous, Nat next to him silent and still staring.

"Would you rather they attacked you, the knights and defenders of the realm, or the people out there with no clue?" he asks with a sing song voice for part of it. "If they fight us, they don't fight others. Protect and defend, right?"

Daniels frowns, "We hit them with a couple Galahad warheads, they got the hint and turned into mist, flew off towards the water. What's the deal?"

"Meet me at the Guild," Richard says, picking up his vest and axe. "We'll compare notes with the Rangers, then go hunting."

"Sounds righteous," Daniels says after a moment of thought, turning to leave, but having to shake Nat's shoulder to get her attention and to follow.

"Is that the partner the Order paired you with?" Alex asks as they head to the Humvee.

"Yeah," Richard sighs as they get to the vehicle.

"He's a dick, but she's hot, and into you," Alex comments, glancing over his shoulder at her. "Too bad you're off the menu."

"We used to date," Richard says, pulling out makings for a sandwich from the back cooler.

"I'm guessing you mean the chick, and damn, you're in trouble, boss," Alex says, taking another, longer look at her.

"Why?" Richard asks, though he's already guessing.

"She's hot, still wants you, is capable in a fight, and I'm sure you realize that female lions can get possessive," Alex says with a tight smile.

"I need a nap and calories," Richard says. "Start the Humvee, swing by the gym by Hoffman's so I can clean up, then to the guild, but I'm going to take a nap a few blocks away before we go in."

"Good idea," Alex agrees.

Three hours later, he and Alex walk out of the Humvee and up to the front entrance of the Guild.

"I have a question," Alex asks as they walk into the Guild HQ, a former Radisson hotel.

"Shoot," Richard says as they walk up the stairs.

He had left his gun in the Humvee, but has another tactical gladius, his axe and kurki on his person. He has a new brown leather vest over a red t-shirt and his solid steel bracers on. His natural demeanor coupled with the armor and equipment projects the image of rough and ready. Alex at his side in blue and black with a tactical gladius on his back as well, improves the image.

"I get the dressing for the job you want bit, but why the outfits?" he asks, gesturing at himself and Richard.

"In general, we don't deal with complicated, complex people," he says with a shrug. "A uniform appearance, like what Clan Wolf and Jackal both do at the gatherings, is a simple way to instill a sense of unity and teamwork to someone looking in from the outside."

"So it's for show," Alex says with a nod. "We look organized and like a unit, so people will assume we are."

"Finding the mix of appearance and performance is the key," he says with a shrug. "Too much armor is expensive and bulky. Our advantages as shapeshifters are speed and strength. In human form, the vest allows for protection of the vitals, while leaving our arms and legs free to keep us agile and fast."

"I understand," Alex says with a nod as they start up the stairs to a conference room on the second floor they have reserved.

"But it also affects the group that wears it," Richard adds. "You can recognize that you are part of a team, a unit. That gives a subtle confidence and increases ability."

"How did the meet and greet go after I left?" he asks, referring to the previous day.

"I had to beat Adam up a little, but they respect me now," he says. Then after a moment adds quietly, "Thank you."

"Some leaders believe that it's the strength of their organization alone that defines them," Richard says as they reach their floor and he takes the hall at an easy walk. "I disagree. Strength in one thing doesn't equate to other things. The organization is what matters, and the organization, at its bottom level, is people."

"So people makes it strong," Alex says with a nod, thinking.

"Smart people, flexible people," Richard says, clarifying. "People who know how to put the right efforts in the right places. Leaders."

"Yes, sir," Alex says as they step up to the conference room and walk in, finding an eclectic mix of people.

On the near side of the room is Ragnar, his two sons and a dozen other of his people, all warriors and with stern expressions on the faces. At the opposite side of the table ranged out on the back half are a half dozen shapeshifters, all Clan Heavy and registered with the Guild. They all wear a similar variation to Richard and Alex's t-shirt and vest, with their weapon of choice.

Richard walks to the far side and up to the last group that's here, Chief Roberts and Deputy Davis.

"Rick, good to see you, brother," Davis says, shaking his hand firmly and clapping him on the shoulder. "Margie was asking after you. You should stop by the house."

"Been really busy lately, training and getting to know my new family," Richard says with a nod. "But I'll make time. I'll call in the next couple days, promise."

"Good," Davis says with a nod, then points at the pictures and files on the table. "The hand at the scene has no prints, and does not have the Imortuus pathogen, so it's not vampiric in nature. We've been through the manifest of items taken in by the shop since two days before the day of the first murders, and we've found three Nordic items that may be part of the picture, but we don't know."

"Url Ragnar has been less than forthcoming with information," Roberts says through his red and gray beard, saying the name with a slight derision, not a fan of the barbarians.

"He doesn't have to be, because I don't think the items we're looking for are Norse, though the mythos is," he says, sifting through the inventory and transaction logs, Alex doing the same next to him.

"We thought that the persons or creatures," he says, looking at Ragnar pointedly but not saying the name of the creatures. "That it attacked those people for trespassing, but that doesn't explain the ones I confronted at the shop, or the other victims the Order knows about."

"So it is not one of _them_," Ragnar says with a nod, emphasizing the word.

"But, if one of their treasures from their hoard is taken, they will seek it out without rest or mercy," Richard continues, tapping what he was looking for in the inventory, Alex sliding over another result. "Either one of the types you mentioned. If someone raided a Viking burial ship, and the ones it belonged to were brought back by a magic wave, then they would try to collect it back."

He taps the lists with items he and Alex had found, "Three gold coins sold to the store in a two day period, all missing from inventory."

"They were Mayan," Roberts says with a suspicious expression.

"We do not hoard our own trinkets, but those we have earned or taken from others," Ragnar says, his fingers subtly tapping the long axe at his side which used to belong to a fire giantess.

"Tell me, Ragnar, does the creature eat people?" Richard asks, looking at the Url.

"They kill those who betrayed them, they eat them," he says in a bare whisper. "But that is a trait of undead, to pull life to have power in Midgard."

"I watched one, their leader, suck the life out of a man in the span of two breaths," Richard says while looking at Ragnar.

"Here's my theory. A ship made it down here, in the ninth century, raided, but didn't make it home," Richard says. "The survivors hole up and die, protecting the hoard they accumulated from raiding the Mayans and others to the south. The magic hits, and some of the hoard is missing, but behind wards inside or just past Ragnar's lands."

"Someone brought it across the ward and they are now able to track it," Ragnar says with a nod of understanding.

"Fine story, but no evidence," Davis says with a shake of his head.

"Except this," Richard says, putting the dagger he'd been stabbed with on the table.

"You took his blade from him?" Ragnar says, suddenly very still.

"Chopped off his hand, exchanged blows, then he ran off," Richard says with a nod. "Just saw him and a pack of demon wolves out front of the Order Headquarters downtown, when he tried to take it back. We burned one of his two buddies, and took the leg off of another."

Ragnar looks around at his people, all of whom have paled some, and he nods to the side. They all rise and start to leave the room.

"I cannot help you, Richard TigerSkin, as I recognize that maker's mark," Ragnar says with a shake of his head. "These are men of the einherjar, Odin's army to fight Ragnarok. We cannot raise an axe or sword against them, lest we will never be received into Valhalla."

"I understand and respect your decision, Url. I will send word of our results," Richard says, with a nod of respect and understanding.

"Until we meet again," Ragnar says, then follows his men out.

"That was weird," Chief Ranger Roberts says with a frown. "I've never seen a group of Neo-Vikings not want to fight something."

"It is a bit unsettling," Richard agrees, then tosses his head and shrugs absently. "Well, hopefully the Order's Representative will be here soon."

"When did you become so diplomatic, Rick?" Davis says with a frown at him.

"It's a recent development," Richard says with a shrug. "I'm going to grab something to eat downstairs, send someone to grab me when the Order reps get here."

A pair of other shapeshifters nod and come with him, and once out of sight of the conference room door one of them drops back a bit to give the illusion of privacy.

"You've been busy," Noel says as they walk down the hall side by side.

"Sorry I didn't get to fill you in and ask," Richard replies to the older man, who has a heavy bladed double axe tucked into the wide belt on his waist, a white t-shirt and black vest.

"It happens sometimes," Noel says with a shrug. "I'd be pissed if you didn't seem to actually have a plan. As it stands, I wonder if I have to watch my back."

"I've got your back, boss," Richard says with a shake of his head. "I got enough problems without even contemplating the things you deal with in your job."

Noel laughs and it sounds like a landslide, "Respect. Nice."

"Thank you for the gift, Alpha," Richard adds with a nod of respect to the were-bear.

"I got three of them last week in trade in deal," Noel says with a nod. "I looked at the summaries and the spreadsheets for Hoffman's. You are doing good things and that should be recognized."

"Thank you."

"This bounty went up, too," Noel says. "The Rangers updated the info just before you got here, and they will again when the Order gives it's update. How public was your fight with these guys?"

"Four lanes wide for two blocks," Richard says with a chuckle. "The Order will have to admit what we're dealing with, I just wonder if we can get it backdated."

"Pack lawyers are really good," Noel says with a nod. "We'll make sure you get the pay. You are our public face, because of your background and the Rangers."

"So, in front of outsiders, you're just another were-bear?" Richard asks.

"Exactly," Noel says with a nod.

They arrive at the cafeteria style restaurant for the Guild members, and talk about the Humvee and upgrades. Thirty minutes later they are walking down the hall to their conference room, having been told the Order had arrived. As they turn into the hall Richard hears a muted roar, then the conference room door explodes outwards.

Nat thuds against the wall, her spatha out and a teardrop shield out in front of her. She's wearing partial plate armor, but her head is bare. Tasha steps out into the hall, and Richard curses under his breath as he sprints down the hall. Nat rolls from the wall, missing a swipe from Tasha's dagger, and rises up and bashing the were-lion with her shield.

Tasha spins quickly and deflects the overhanded thrust from the sword. Richard is nearly on top of them and he grabs Nat's sword by the blade near the handle, jerking it to the side and out of her grip as he snatches Tasha by the back of her hair and jerks her back from the other woman. Nat follows through on instinct, pulling her dagger and shifting her stance, not seeing who her new opponent is.

Richard grabs the edge of the shield and pulls as she turning, pulling her off balance. He twists and jerks, pulling the shield off her arm and tosses it to the side to slam into the wall. His left hand is bleeding from grabbing the blade and his eyes flash gold.

"ENOUGH!" he roars, the sound reverberating in the hall.

Tasha stops kicking in his grasp, her hands on his forearm to keep from her hair being ripped out, her toes barely brushing the ground. Nat had been crouching before him after he'd wrenched the shield away, and now she cringes at the sound. Richard takes a deep breath to calm himself as he studies his surroundings.

The occupants of the conference room have poured out and are keeping their distance. Richard looks around and jabs a finger at Alex.

"Be precise, what happened?" he asks in a hard tone, no room for misinterpretation.

"Tasha walked in just after Knight Investigator Daniels and Knight Rushman arrived," he says, standing erect with his hands behind his back. "Knight Rushman had been describing her version of the fight at the Order, and was giving a… colorful description of your transformation into a human again. Tasha told to ease off, that was her boyfriend, and Knight Rushman commented 'We'll see'."

"Knight Investigator," Richard says with only a bare hesitation. "I request that Knight Rushman be removed from this investigation, as she cannot maintain her professionalism."

"I—," she starts but Daniels interrupts.

"Pack it up Rushman," Daniels says with a sour expression. "The whole room heard you. Go."

Nat clenches her jaw and storms down the hall. When she is out of sight, Richard turns his eyes on Tasha and stares at her for a moment. He takes a breath as he looks her in the eye, her eyes flashing a hint of gold, before she looks away, then he drops her. She lands in a crouch and holds it, dipping her eyes as she is lower than him in the Clan hierarchy.

"I will be back shortly after I discuss a few things with Tasha," he says flatly. "Alex, be certain everyone gets updated on what has happened."

Richard turns and walks down the hall to one of the unused suites and walks into it, not looking to see if Tasha followed him. He waits until the door is closed, then roars, a deep bellow that causes the glass in the vanity's mirror to shake. He knows the room isn't soundproof but does it anyway.

He feels a touch on his shoulder when he has finished and takes his next breath.

"I am trying really hard not to break the desk, because they will charge me for it," he says calmly, sitting on the double bed and looking at her.

Tasha clenches her jaw a few times, then sits next to him carefully, her hands in her lap, "That was my fight."

"That was both of you acting like teenagers," he says with a near snarl. "Her for thinking I'm that kind of guy, and you for not knowing."

Tasha curls her lip at him and clenches her jaw again, but looks down, "I should not have thrown her through the door."

"Do you mean that, or just saying it?" he asks.

"Mean it," she says with a sigh. "You take off and work, and I don't see you. It grates on my nerves, and when I see you, you're _mine_."

"You need to work on that," he says with a solid frown.

"I know," she says with a nod. "I will try."

"You need to apologize to her," he says after a long pause. "We need to work with the Order, and she's not bigoted against us."

"You will never be naked in front of her again," Tasha says with growl.

"Yes, dear," he says, starting to smile at her.

"Am I off the contract?" she asks, sulking.

"You should be," he says with a frown and looks at the ground in front of him. "I tossed her out. But I didn't exactly treat you like a complete adult out there."

"Ow, by the way," she says, rubbing her scalp and hair. It has some parts braided and others wild, making her look almost barbaric, but striking and civil.

"I think we will need magic, maybe a med mage," he says with a nod. "No slip ups, silent shadow. Understand?"

"Yes, Executioner," she says with a smile, nodding to him, then lunges at him and kisses him passionately.

Richard is going over the info they have then looks at the group of people in the room.

"We can draw them out with the dagger," Richard says, tapping it on the table for emphasis. "Norse legend says the undead are of the earth, and only the earth can hold them. Fire seemed to work, too. Unfortunately, liquid fire isn't cheap when magic is up, and gas is an iffy thing during that time."

"What did you use?" Daniels asks.

"Alcohol, pure alcohol," he says with a sigh. "It always works, but only on something stationary and wanting to burn. If it's wet or moving, it won't keep."

"I can summon them, but if they are wary, they may not venture far from their ship," Tasha says quietly, her eyes down.

"Why is that?" Jesse, a were-jaguar, asks from the group.

"If they are einherjar, then they were given burial rites, and passed on," Noel says softly, belying his actual power. "They were not betrayed, so their power is less, it seems. I would wager that their hoard is on their ship, and it's their link between here and the other side. They steal life essences to keep raiding."

"So we sink the ship?" Roberts asks, frowning.

"Not enough," Richard says with a shake of his head. "We defeat them in battle and take their hoard, then they no longer have a hold on this realm."

"They ran away last time, when we started winning," Daniels points out.

"So I can't take an army," Richard says, glancing at the group. "Myself and a couple others. We strike a bargain for the combat, and fight."

As he finishes his statement the sound of a small crowd approaches from down the hall, and Tim enters the conference room with seven others behind him, to include Davey. Richard turns to Roberts and Daniels before the young man can speak.

"I have the info I need for my plan to work, and I have the gear and people I need," Richard says in a formal tone. "I thank you both for the help and assistance. I hope to have this finished by the end of the magic wave."

"Good luck, Rick," Roberts says with a shake of his hand then leaves with Davis and Daniels.

When they are alone, Richard turns to the new shapeshifters, "Tim, are you starting a boy band? If so, don't bring them to work with you."

A few from behind him chuckle slightly at the joke, but Tim ignores them and looks directly at Richard.

"I told my father what was happening, and he sent us to help you," Tim says with a raised chin of pride. His refusal to avert his eyes is a shapeshifter way of claiming to be an equal or dominant to the other, one of their fundamental subtleties.

"I see," Richard says, growling the words. "No one interfere."

Before Tim can say anything, Richard swings at him, a left hook that the young shapeshifter manages to block, but with a distinct crack of bone in his forearm. Richard's other arm strikes out like a viper and grabs Tim by his neck, his thumb next to his trachea, and lifts him. Tim is taller than Richard, but he extends his arm and holds Tim firmly in the air, casually blocking the kicks aimed at his groin, and ignoring the kicks to other parts of his body. He follows through with the grab and walks him to the wall and pins the young were-wolf to the wall.

He holds him there for what seems like an eternity but is only six seconds or so. When Tim finishes kicking, grasping at Richard's arm to alleviate the pressure on his throat, Richard releases him and the were-wolf lands in a heap in front of him.

"Who is the second of this hunting pack?" Richard asks the remaining shapeshifters in a near growl, ignoring Tim.

"I am," Davey says, stepping forward and meeting his eyes only for a moment, then looking away in a gesture of submission.

"Return the Alphas' son with a message that they are invited to observe the closing of the contract _I_ was hired for," Richard says with a gesture at Tim. "In three hours if the magic holds, at my property, and I will only speak to your Alpha's mate in regards to her son. Do you understand?"

"I do," Davey says, waiting as the young were-wolf collects himself and leaves with the others that had come with them. Richard and the others of Clan Heavy watch them leave and once they are out of earshot Noel speaks.

"This could cause problems," Noel says quietly as he steps next to him. "Thomas is not known for his patience and level head."

"Tim betrayed my trust by openly offering information to his father, who then treated it like it was a plea for help," Richard says with a frown. "Clan Heavy does not need their help in this. It was blatant disrespect and a test to see if we would let it roll."

"Theresa," Noel says with a nod. "It may work out."

"We'll see in three hours," Richard says, turning to Tasha. "You summon them in three hours in front of the battlements of my house. We'll likely have an audience, and I need to choose my team."

Richard rides up the front drive of his house and admires the view. Full wooden palisade and ditch around the main house and barn, four entry points on the four sides of the square. The inside is huge, plenty of room for more buildings and expansion, so it feels empty. The plan had called for concrete and stone originally, but then the giantess' keep came along, and he decided to go a different route.

He'd had a long discussion with Noel and Alex about the plan before they started building, and Richard had explained that the Roman Legion could erect the full fortification in a couple hours' time to standard. Noel had taken that as a challenge and had put the full pull as the Clan Alpha to put every available shapeshifter into its construction, and they had completed it in a day. Finished logs and wood make the walls, spaced with four feet in between and filled with dirt, allowing a solid platform inside all along the perimeter. The walls are twenty feet and flat on top, though improvements are planned for the walkways, battlements and wall.

The Humvee rolls through the main gate in the darkness, a pair of shapeshifters on the top guarding the gate. As they enter, Richard can see a good portion of the entire clan has been brought in, all armed either with their personal weapon of choice, or with a tactical gladius from his stores. They stop in front of the house in the dark, and Richard steps out of the Humvee with Noel, Alex and Tasha with him.

"How long to prepare?" he asks.

"Ten minutes," she says with no hesitation.

"Your deadline it an hour away," Noel says with a thoughtful frown. "The rest of the Pack should be here soon."

"The whole Pack?" he asks, a shiver of nervousness zinging through his system.

"I told the Pack Lord, and he will come with his mate, and a group from Clan Jackal," he says with a shrug. "You've made this a spectacle. We might as well share the show. If they weren't invited after that fiasco with Wolf, they'd be insulted, but I had invited them prior to that, when you seemed to be leaning to an endgame like this."

"Thank you, Alpha," Richard says with a nod of respect.

"Who will you take as your partners?" he asks with an eyebrow raised.

"Are you willing?" he asks, knowing that having his Clan Alpha would be invaluable.

"Willing, yes," Noel says with a somber nod. "But this is your contract and fight. If I get involved, I will be the spotlight instead. This is your show."

"Tasha?" he asks, eyebrow quirked.

"I am yours," she purrs, bowing her head with a smile.

"Alex, are you in?" he asks next turning to the youth.

"I think someone else would be a better choice," he says with some of his old insecurity. "I'm not that good with a sword, and my animal form isn't big."

"But you are good with a bow and keep your head in a fight," Richard says with a solid nod. "I need that, are you in?"

"I'm in, boss," he says with a nod.

"He'll also placate the Wolves," Noel comments. "They'll be pissed being pushed off, but a member of their Pack in the final fight will soothe their egos, and they'll get a tithe from his cut of the bounty. Total contract of thirty-five kay isn't a laughing matter."

As he finishes talking a shout rings from the front gate, and four horses trot through the gate. The lead rider is the Pack Lord, Richard still does not know his name, his pale blond hair seeming to shine in the torchlight on the battlements and house. His dusky skin shines in the flickering light and he wears a pair of black jeans and a white t-shirt. The woman beside him has dark brown hair and is stocky, almost mannish in appearance, and also dressed in jeans and t-shirt of the same colors. The two following them are members of Jackal, in black slacks and buttoned shirts as they ride their own horses. They all dismount and a pair of shapeshifters take the reins and lead the mounts to the barn.

Noel walks to the man and takes a knee in respect, Richard and the others following and doing likewise. After a moment the man waves a hand and they all rise.

"Richard Michaels," the man says, his voice deep and solid, but with a touch of an accent, something Mediterranean perhaps. "You have been busy, I see," he says, looking at the house and battlements. "And I am told that you acquired a castle as well."

"I was fortunate in some business dealings with my neighbors, and was able to acquire the land and the castle," he confirms with a nod.

"I assume you gave the appropriate tithe to the Pack, from your transactions?" he asks, tilting his head and his shoulder length hair swaying with the movement.

"Yes, sir," Richard says, knowing he and Alex had spent a good bit of time discussing the importance of not angering the entirety of the Pack.

"Good," he says with a nod. "I understand that you are busy, and that we are waiting for Clan Wolf, and then you will begin, is that correct?"

"Yes, sir," Richard says, glancing at Noel.

The Pack Lord narrows his eyes at Richard and gestures him to follow him as he turns away from the group. They walk to the perimeter wall, and up the stairs, and start walking around the walkway. Richard says nothing, waiting for the Alpha to speak first.

"Do you play chess?" he asks.

"Sometimes, sir," Richard says. "I learned to play, but it wasn't a favorite of mine, I don't play it much."

"I think you may be good at it," he responds, pausing at a platform inside the wall, turning to look at the stars and the distance. "I am of two minds whether I like you or not, Richard. You are a great asset, but I am not a fool, and realize how large a threat you are, as well."

"I understand both perspectives, sir," Richard says.

He laughs, "That, tiger, is a rare dose of honesty. I like it, and I think that is why I will tolerate you."

"Sir?" Richard asks, unsure.

"What motivates you?" the Pack Lord says, turning his full gaze on Richard, who looks at the Alpha stare for a moment then looks down and away.

"I was a soldier, and in my soul, I never left," Richard admits. "Since shifting, I have a family again, a purpose."

"To protect your Pack," he says with a nod of understanding.

"Yes, but I still see normal innocents, and will protect them as well," he says with a shrug. "It is my nature."

"You are a bluff warrior, with subtlety and cunning, but no wish for subterfuge," the Pack Lord says with a nod. "If that should change for the worse, you will become a problem."

"If I do, I hope I am stopped quickly," Richard says simply.

"My name is Pelos," the Pack Lord says. "I rarely use it, it keeps the mystique and unease around me, easier in meetings and such. Should you succeed tonight, your own title will likely be cemented."

"What do you mean?" Richard asks.

"You will fight the soldiers of gods tonight," Pelos says with a smile which flashes perfect white teeth in the night. "A story that will live on for years, or longer. You have already started a tale with your survival against six shapeshifters in a fight, surviving the change as an adult, and your exploits since. You are quickly becoming more than just a man or a tiger, you are becoming a legend."

He turns and says the last with a solid look at Richard, who gulps at the statement, "I didn't think of it in those terms, sir."

"I do," he says, turning to look at the night again. "Go and prepare for the fight, tiger. I will talk and handle the wolves when they arrive, you will only have to deal with their mother, after."

"Thank you, sir," Richard says with a nod of thanks, then goes to finish his preparations.

Richard stands anxiously in the arch of his main gate, Alex with him as they wait for Tasha to arrive. Twelve members of the Jackal Clan and the Wolf Clan had arrived and met with Pelos. They are arrayed now at the front of the battlements, ready to watch the fight. Alex has a bow and two quivers of arrows, and Tasha will have the same, he will stick to his swords and axe.

Tasha walks up to him from the house, and he watches her approach, his lips curling into a smile as she strides down the dirt road. She sways in her leather vest, predatory, like a lion on the hunt, and her eyes pierce into his very soul, as they always do. Behind her is Adam, who carries a bag with the final materials, and Tasha stops in front of him. She raises a case and hands it to him in a ceremonial way.

"For you," she says simply and solemnly.

He opens the case to reveal a gladius, but not a new model tactical, but an old fashioned one. He pulls the blade out and nods at the heft and balance, the blade a solid steel and the handle of bone and steel for the pommel. The steel pommel is black with brown metal rivets on it, and he nods in appreciation at the craftsmanship. This is a limited edition competition blade by Morell, they cost in the thousands of dollars due to the materials and craftsmanship. The blade is strong with a slight spring, impervious to rust and the best money can buy.

"It's amazing," he breathes reverently.

"Speak the word, _Meifl_," she says.

"_Meifl_," he says, and the blade dulls its color with a shade of red in the metal, and a small, nearly unseen sheen of fire coats the blade.

"I called some friends, and we pulled the enchantment from the fire giant's heart," she says with a smile. "Alex and I both paid for the blade. It is a gift."

"I do not deserve this," he says simply, turning to look at the both of them. "This is worth—…"

"You have had more impact on me than anyone in my life save my father and mother, sir," Alex interrupts. "If you were to disappear today, I wouldn't be able to go back to what I was before. You showed me the way, made me this way. I cannot repay you for that."

"I just showed you the door, you opened it," he says with a shake of his head.

"Remember, you are _mine_, mate," Tasha says with a smile when he turns to her.

Richard pulls her to him and embraces her firmly, kissing her passionately for a long, lingering moment. When they part they are both gasping, rubbing their faces on each other. They let go of each other, and Richard hands the case to Adam, then swaps his new gladius into his back sheath and carries the tactical gladius in his hand. Tasha walks past them with Adam in tow and pulls the bag he carries open, pulling out the dagger and the severed hand onto the ground in front of her.

Richard stands to her side and watches the distance, glancing behind him to check the distance to the battlements, fifty yards. Tasha begins chanting and Adam leaves them, and once he is in the gate, it closes with a solid thump and bar across it. A good portion of the Pack is watching and Richard takes a centering breath as he stands patiently for his enemy to come.

The mist and fog rolls in, then two shadows appear in the fog, condensing from the ethereal shadows. They take on the forms of the same creatures he's fought before, and the two with missing limbs are still missing them, one with a wooden leg now. They stride forward towards them, their weapons out, glowing green eyes on Richard. Thirty yards from them they stop and survey the battlements and spectators.

"I have a bargain for you, einherjar!" Richard calls, picking up the hand and dagger from in front of where Tasha is rising to her feet.

"I do not deal with meat," the leader rasps loudly, sneering through his rotted lips and teeth.

"I will burn your hand, and desecrate your dagger," Richard calls to the undead from twenty five yards away. "I will seek and claim your lost hoard before you do, as I can move when magic is gone, but you cannot."

The einherjar looks back and forth for a long moment, and Richard notes that red eyes of wolves have appeared behind them, over a hundred glowing pair.

"What is your bargain, meat?" the leader asks.

"Fair combat," he says, "My two companions and I against you and your companion."

"You took my hand, and my dagger," the leader hisses.

"I return your hand, and your dagger," Richard says, tossing the items across the distance.

The creature picks them up where they had landed at his feet. He attaches his hand back in place and puts the dagger back on his belt.

"My companions and I against you and yours?" the einherjar asks with a tilted head.

"Your companion," Richard says clearly in singular, pointing at the peg legged Viking with his sword.

The leader chuckles, "No matter, meat. A deal, fair battle. And let me return your items to you."

The leader moves in a blur, his hands flashing and Richard's knife flying out and hitting him in the shoulder, punching through his reinforced tactical vest. He pulls it out with his left hand and charges the leader, his two partners already sending arrows downrange. Their explosive arrows find their mark on the leader and the other creature, and they stumble from the concussion, though are otherwise undamaged.

Richard reaches him as he starts to grow, the leader starting to loom over him. Richard dives in and deflects the attack from the axe aside, parrying the follow on attack from the dagger. The leader has learned and is fighting better, his combos and attacks more smooth and accurate. Richard is fighting to keep up as it turns into a giant of twelve feet tall.

He dives through the giant's legs and thrusts his sword fully up into its lower back, piercing up into the chest cavity. Richard is knocked to the side by the axe, taking a glancing blow to his back shoulder, and he rolls with it, stopping a dozen yards away. He rises and draws his gladius, then the axe.

"Some say the world will end in fire!" he shouts, raising the gladius as he whispers the command word, and the blade flashes with flames. "Others, in ice!" he says, raising the axe with another whisper to activate the cold enchantment and the blue glow it emits.

He attacks and the fight is a brutal flurry of attacks, dodges, and movement. He dodges most of the blows, but some land, and his vest takes a few glancing hits until it only hangs in tatters with blood covering his torso and legs as he continues to dance around the giant. He strikes the leader many times, and the flesh heals and knits together almost instantly from the attacks. He pays attention to the others fighting, the other einherjar has been brought to the ground, its leg taken from it by the explosive arrows, but dangerous on the ground regardless. Tasha is in lion form mauling it while Alex is trying to cut off parts of it to burn.

Richard finally times an attack from the leader right, and he leaps onto its chest, burying the spike of his axe in place to hold him as he thrusts the sword into the leader's skull. The undead Viking howls in pain, the fire burning his rotted brain and he swats at Richard with his hands, having dropped his weapons. Richard holds his position and takes the hits to his back and legs, and finally the outside of the skull bursts with flames, spreading to the rest of the body.

Richard springs from the leader's chest and rolls on the ground away from the toppling body, rising to his feet with both axe and sword still in hand. He surveys the burning husk and walks to where Tasha has clamped onto the other einherjar's neck with her jaws, raking at its back as Alex is darting in and hacking at its legs. Alex's right arm is limp at his side and he can see a hitch in his step as well, while Tasha is sporting some gashes on her hide as well.

Richard places his axe into his belt and tears off his shredded vest with his free hand, approaching the fallen einherjar in a slow stalk. Tasha releases her grip and bounds away, circling to just behind Richard. Alex leaves off as well, and comes to Richard's side as he reaches the edge of the einherjar's reach. The fallen undead pauses for Richard to close and lashes out to grab him, but he leaps into the grab, grabbing the rotted armor with his left hand as he swings himself onto the giant's back.

He thrusts up into the skull from the base of the spine, and the undead howls at the attack, screaming in pain and thrashing in agony. Richard hears the wolves howl in response, and he glances over his shoulder at where the silhouette of a Viking longboat sits in the mist, the red eyed demon dogs around it. Richard hops off the burning body of the undead and pulls his axe from his belt.

"This fight is ours!" he roars, waving to Tasha and Alex to close with him. "To the victors, the spoils!"

A long howling note of challenge calls from the pack, and Richard charges with his companions at his heels. He enters the mass of demon wolves, and he does not think or process the fight, but only focuses on his control of his beast, letting it out, but keeping control of it. He spins and attacks, stabs and chops, slashes and pierces the bodies of the wolves as he moves. He stays in one place for only a few attacks at most, moving quickly to keep the pack off balance, and soon he is at the side of the longboat.

He stays next to it and continues to fight, and soon the pack is thinned, until finally there are no more to fight. He breathes deep, steam rising from his blood and gore covered body as he stands next to the long boat. Alex shuffles to him with Tasha, his leg bent wrong at the ankle and his calf torn to shreds.

"Lie down, now," Richard says with a tone that brooks no argument.

Alex falls to his ass, and Richard holds the knee of his injured right leg, "This will hurt, don't cry out."

Alex shoves his hand in his mouth in time for Richard to pull the broken shin bone into alignment and then straighten and set the bone. He grabs the bandage from Alex's vest and does a quick tie onto it. He rises with a nod and helps Alex stand, then looks at the side of the ship.

"Let's go see what the fuss is about," Richard says, gathering himself and then leaping onto the rail.

He studies the inside of the ship, and smiles to himself, a pile gold, silver and other coins enough to fill his living room is spread on the deck of the ship. He turns from the treasure and faces where the Pack watches from the battlements and he roars his victory. The Pack pauses for a moment, then they howl and roar at the night with him.

Epilogue…

Richard sits on the rail of the Viking ship, watching the distant rising moon, a few days away from being full. Tasha is staying in the city, and he is here alone, save a few of the were-leopards in his barracks building he's training and working with. It's been a week since he's fought the undead Vikings, and the hoard he's recovered has been tallied and counted. The boat he'd decided to leave in place, to take it apart is work and time intensive, and he likes the reminder in the distance.

A bird caws in the distance, then again closer, and he turns to look from his perch on the rail, his legs hanging towards the ground. A large raven crosses the moon, and he can tell that it is large, too large to be a natural bird. The hairs on his neck rise, and he turns in his seat to look at the entire ship, and is, for a reason he can't explain, unsurprised to see another figure sitting on the opposite rail facing him.

The figure is a man with a thick bushy gray beard that hangs a hand's length from his chin, and longer hair slicked back under a brown, nondescript baseball cap. He has on a dark blue and brown plaid shirt, jeans and heavy steel toed boots on, a heavy Carhart vest, and a spear with a long blade leaning on the rail beside him. His face is shadowed, old but solid and strong looking, and with only one eye peering out, the other socket empty.

"I wasn't sure if I'd ever see you or one of you coming, or if you could even manifest," Richard says as he shifts around to face the man across the ship from him, ten yards away.

"We kept more followers than we'd thought we would, over the centuries," the man says with a nod. "They changed us, but at least we exist. More than a lot of pantheons can say, especially the greeks."

He chuckles at the last, and Richard can hear an edge of satisfaction at the comment.

"Why are you here?" Richard asks.

"You know who I am?" the man asks, tilting his head slightly.

"I do," he replies simply, knowing that saying too much may offend him or drive him off.

The man takes a breath, sighing a bit as the raven flying about lands next to him, and he glances at is as he continues, "This magic flexing and coming as the tide is annoying. Throws things out of balance and disrupts the order of things. That's what happened to my einherjar you met. They were a rarity, to get this far, and then the magic allowed them to get free and greedy."

"So it was an accident?" he asks.

"Aye," the man says, nodding and pulling off his hat to reveal his gray hair in the moonlight. "But it is fortunate, as I wish to make my believers accepting, rather than regressive."

"You want them to use tech and advanced metals and techniques and what-not," Richard says with an understanding nod, a part of his mind screaming at the nearly inconceivable concept that he's currently talking to a god.

"I could, and should, punish you for killing my honored dead," the man says with a momentary glint on his one good eye. "But I will forego punishment in lieu of your agreement to assist Ragnar, when possible, to further my aims."

"If it is not against my own aims, I will," Richard says with a nod.

The man scowls, "I may require more than that."

"Then we are at an impasse, traveller," replies with widespread arms. "I will not cause harm to me or mine to further another's goal if it does not aid in mine. That is just bad life decisions."

The man nods after a moment, "Agreed, then, Richard TigerSkin."

The man spins on the rail, grabbing his spear as he does and hops off the side of the ship. He never hits the ground, disappearing before he does.

The End….


End file.
